


Breaking Free (Outta the Closet)

by forevermarvelsbitch



Series: Once a Narwhal, Always a Narwhal [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M, SO! MUCH! SINGING!, a lil bit of angsssssssst, fluff and cheese, some dancing, v minor sana/eva
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forevermarvelsbitch/pseuds/forevermarvelsbitch
Summary: Isak, the popular captain of the basketball team, and Even, the brainy and beautiful member of the academic club, break all the rules of Hartvig Nissen society when they secretly audition for the leads in the school's musical.(The High School Musical AU)





	1. I Look into Your Eyes and the Sky's the Limit

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic ever and. Oh. My. GOD. I can't believe I wrote this.  
> Shoutout to my aunt for reading over this and to my guru bashfulisak for the title.  
> Chapter title is from "Helpless" by the cast of Hamilton.  
> I hope you enjoy xx

It's New Year's Eve, and the ski lodge is alive, brightened by the copious strings of fairy lights still hanging from every conceivable surface after last week's Christmas celebrations. The lounge is a flurry of activity as it serves as the centre of the evening's festivities, the room buzzing with the innate nattering of adults that bustle about, indulging in the spread provided by the lodge, and, on the odd occasion, rounding up their rowdy offspring. There is a soft undertone of music as it emanates from the Freestyle Club beneath the lounge, the beat reverberating through the floorboards.

Elin Bech Næsheim hurries into the lounge, agitated, as she pulls her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, and she brushes away stray strands of hair as she wildly looks around the room. She visibly sags with relief when her eyes fall upon her boy, who's tucked away in a secluded corner, his gangly limbs sprawled across the length of a couch. The book that he holds awfully close to his face is immediately snatched from his clutches when she marches up to him.

Elin takes care to bookmark his page before closing it with a sharp snap, wagging a warning finger at his complaints. "Even, it's New Year's Eve! I think you've done enough reading."

"Oh, but  _ Mamma _ !" Even gripes, attempting to grab his book, but Elin dances out of range and holds the book high above her head, and although she's quite short, the height is just enough to make Even collapse on the couch in defeat. "I'm almost finished."

"Oh, but  _ Evi _ !" Elin mocks his tone. "You've been reading--" Her eyes widen as she flips the book over to glimpse its title, and she raises both eyebrows at him, lowering her arms to put her hands on her hips. " _ This _ is what you've been reading for five hours? Really? Instead of getting ready for the party?"

With a groan, Even tilts over and faceplants the couch in a hopeless attempt at being swallowed by the cushions. Elin regards him in fond exasperation, and she kneels down at her son's side, reaching out and combing her fingers through Even's coiffed hair.

"I understand that you're going through a rough time," she tells him quietly, "but going out and having fun is going to help you feel better, not sitting on your ass in isolation."

"I am social!" Even protests, his voice muffled by cushions. 

Elin rolls her eyes, giving a soft snort. "Even, reading in a crowded room isn't being social." She leans forward then, moving her hand from his hair to clutch at Even's hand. "Please go to this party for me, even if it's just for a little while. I do think it'll be good for you."

Even slowly shifts in his position on the couch and, in doing so, extricates his hand from Elin's. He turns his head to face her, her hopeful eyes meeting the listless gaze of his. For several minutes, he's quiet in deliberation, but Even eventually utters a whispered, "Okay."

Elin perks up. "You mean you'll go?"

"I'll go," he affirms with a sigh. 

A wide grin stretches across Elin's glossy lips and clambers to her feet, barely able to contain her joy as she holds out a hand to Even. "Well, come on then! I've already laid out your best clothes. Come get ready!"

Even accepts his mother's proffered hand and grips it tightly with his, but when Elin tries to yank him to his feet, he doesn't budge an inch. She gives up after a couple more tries when it becomes apparent he's not going to co-operate and settles for scowling at him as a smirk finds its way across Even's lips.

"But only if I can have my book back."

***

Over on the other side of the lodge is a gym, but it's barely used, and the few pieces of gym equipment have acquired a fine layer of dust as a result. It's a spacious room, with windows reaching from floor to ceiling, showcasing a spectacular view of the mountain range - at least in daytime - at the far end. The equipment - consisting of a treadmill, an exercise bike, and a set of weights - has been pushed to the sides to make room for a basketball hoop, set up by a father and son that are currently occupied with it as they scrimmage in a mock game of basketball. 

Terje Valtersen catches the ball as it falls through the hoop, Isak having thrown it at the hoop and nailing his shot seconds beforehand. He bounces the ball back to Isak, wiping his forehead to clear the sweat that has been gathering on his forehead over the past hour that they have been practising. 

"Keep working left, Isak," Terje instructs through a pant. "We've got a guard to expect in the championship game. You'll torch him!"

Isak catches the ball and cradles it in the crook of his arm as he quirks an eyebrow. "And going left is the way to do that?" he questions dubiously, using the back of his free hand to wipe away his sweat.

Terje nods vigorously, and gestures for Isak to turn around, to which the boy complies. "He won't be expecting it. He looks middle, and you take it downtown!"

Isak nods in consideration of his father's words as he allows himself a minute to regulate his breathing. "Okay, so, what you want is something like... _ this _ ?"

With shoes squeaking, Isak feints to the right, then swiftly twists his body to the left, pushing off the ground through his heels, jumping high enough to evade Terje's pathetic attempt at blocking his shot, and throws.

Terje lets out a whoop as the ball goes through the hoop. 

"That's it, man!" he crows, going over to retrieve the ball, turning in Isak's as he does so.  "That's the stuff I wanna see in the game!" 

As Isak returns his father's grin with a cocky, "Oh, don't worry, you will," there's the echoing clack-clack-clack of heels on wood and both father and son turn around in alarm when a familiar voice cries out, "There you are!"

Lea covers the distance from the doorway to where her brother and father stand in long, calculated strides with her cheeks flushing from exertion and nose wrinkling in disgust at their sweaty state. 

"Ugh. Have we flown all the way here for you to play  _ more _ basketball?"

Isak and Terje exchange a look, shrug, and turn back to Lea with a chorus of "Yeah."

Lea crosses her arms and pouts. "But it's the last day of vacation! And I was hoping, Pappa," she turns to Terje, "that you'd take Mamma to the New Year's thing because she hasn't left her bed in, like, forever and she should get out of her room at least once while we're here."

Terje's easy grin vanishes in an instant, his face darkening, his jaw set tense and firm. He nods his consent, but his eyes are distant, cold. "Right," he says stiffly. "New Year's."

"Exactly!" Lea declares, oblivious to the change in her father's demeanour. "And Issy--" Here she draws her brother's attention by giving him a sharp pinch. "--is going to take me to the kid's party!" 

Isak grimaces, rubbing his shoulder. "The kid's party?"

"Yeah! The one in the Freestyle Club?"

He narrows his eyes. "But...you're twelve. You're not even old enough! Is she old enough?" Isak demands, turning to Terje and jerking his thumb at his sister.

Terje crosses his arms and strokes his chin. "Well--"

"We're going!" Lea announces petulantly with a stomp, and her tone leaves no room for argument. 

So Isak tilts his head back, closing his eyes, and gives a weary sigh. "Fine."

And with that, Lea lashes out and snags Isak's wrist, keeping a firm hold as she leads him out of the gym while Isak looks over his shoulder as his father. Terje's back is now turned to his children to face the basketball hoop, and Isak watches as his father dribbles the ball and runs at the hoop and shoots - and misses. 

With a heavy sigh, Isak tears his eyes away and follows Lea back to their room.

***

It takes longer than Elin anticipated to make Even look even remotely presentable that by the time she's satisfied and has walked him down to the venue, the party in the Freestyle Club is already well underway. Strings of multicoloured lights are hanging on the walls, flashing at irregular intervals, and bunches of bright balloons are floating around among the teenagers that crowd the space. A stage has been set up in the middle of the room, with two microphone stands placed upon it and two speakers positioned at either end, a small set of stairs situated at the back for easy access on and off the stage. From the ceiling hangs a teleprompter that displays the lyrics for karaoke. 

Even ventured into the club with his cherished novel -  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , which has become worn out over time - clutched to his chest like a security blanket as he attempts to merge into the crowd. It doesn't quite go to plan as he bumps into a girl almost immediately, and initially, she looks wickedly pissed, but then she looks up at him, her eyes widen and shamelessly roam over his body. 

Not for the first time, Even finds himself internally cursing his mother because Elin's definition of 'picking out his best clothes' just had to include tight pants and a thin shirt, didn't it? 

Smiling uncomfortably, Even shuffles away from the girl as quickly as possible, yanking the lapels of his jacket over his chest to shield himself from her ogling eyes. He manages to find a couch and scurries over to it, electing to ignore the couple already making out on it. He sits on the half that's clear of kissing couples and makes himself comfortable by stretching out his legs - not too far, of course, lest he sends someone sprawling (again).

Meanwhile, Lea is waltzing into the club with a sulking Isak trailing along behind her, preoccupied with staring down at his phone. She pokes him for attention when they're inside and looks up at him with a smile.

"Isn't this cool?" she squeals.

"Very," Isak says flatly, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie that Lea was unsuccessful in wrangling him out of, despite many attempts. However, as his eyes roam the room, Isak begins to think that maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to wear something a little nicer. He starts to feel self-conscious as he takes in the fancy button-ups and smart blazers that most of the other boys are wearing, his ratty jeans and worn hoodie making him feel completely out of place.

Isak's gaze lingers a little too long on the boys, which results in him ending up making direct eye contact with one boy that has his sleeves rolled up his arms to reveal his biceps. Isak averts his eyes in a flash, cheeks burning furiously, and he meets Lea's stare as she watches him, greatly amused, and he scowls right back.

At this time, the boy and girl on stage finish their duet, and their audience cheer as the couple is chased off by the hostess, easily distinguished by a red sparkly party hat.

"Not bad, not bad," the girl praises into the microphone, "for a couple of snowboarders." She claps her hands together gleefully. "Now, I wonder who's gonna rock the house next!"

She signals for twin spotlights to begin circulating the room in search of two new victims, and one of the lights is quick in its selection, landing on a boy who squints at the sudden intense light invading his senses and wondering what the hell the world has against him reading. The other light takes a little longer to choose, but eventually, settles for another boy too busy squabbling with his sister that he doesn't notice the light on him.

And so with the new victims now chosen, all hell breaks loose.

Even is swarmed by party-goers that snatch his book away, carelessly tossing it aside without even bothering to mark his page (not that he can't find it later, but still, rude). The teens have an easier time dislodging Even from the couch as it's a collective effort of four people that yank him up onto his feet. His attempts at protesting - "Oh, no no no. I don't sing, guys. I can't!" - are brushed aside as he's shoved toward the stage.

In the meantime, the hostess approaches Isak and loudly declares, "You too, handsome!" as she grabs his hand, and Isak is simply too bewildered to put up much of a fight, only realising what's happening when he suddenly finds himself standing up on stage alongside another unfortunate boy. 

The hostess slings her arms around Isak and Even's shoulders, giving them both a consolatory squeeze. "Well," she says cheerily, "best of luck, boys." She passes her microphone over to Isak. "And don't forget to have fun!" With a cackle, she walks down the stairs, a skip in her step, to rejoin the party. 

And so the boys are left onstage, Isak standing dumbly with the microphone gripped tightly in his hand while Even wraps his arms around himself, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. The twinkling piano melody that begins to play over the speakers forces Isak to resign to his fate, and he slots the microphone back into place on its stand. His eyes flicker up to the teleprompter that lights up with the lyrics and, after taking a breath, the words begin to spill from his lips.

_ Living in my own world _

_ Didn’t understand _

_ That anything can happen _

_ When you take a chance _

Despite his words dripping with apathy, several cheers of encouragement erupt from the tiny cluster that's gathered before the stage, and Isak's soft voice piques the interest of other teens throughout the room. He begins to feel anxious under the weight of the intense gazes he can feel burning into his skin.

Even chances a glance at Isak, finally looking up from his feet, and his eyes widen as the other boy moves to leave the stage, horrified at the idea of being left up here by himself. He swallows thickly when the prompter broadcasts the next set of lyrics and manages to fight down his stage fright long enough to get the lines out.

_ I never believed in _

_ What I couldn’t see _

_ I never opened my heart _

_ To all the possibilities _

Even finds that, okay, maybe this isn't as bad as he'd initially thought and feels a surge of courage course through his veins at every word he utters, his resonant voice giving Isak pause, and he turns to look, fascinated, at the boy whose attention is on the screen above. Isak feels compelled to return to his place at the front of the stage.

_ I know  _

_ That something has changed _

Out of the corner of his eye, Even can see the other boy not-so-subtly looking at him.

_ Never felt this way _

When he turns away, Even's eyes flitter to the other boy, simply staring at him in return.

_ And right here tonight _

Isak can feel his eyes boring into him and his cheeks beginning to flush.

_ This could be the start _

_ Of something new _

_ It feels so right _

_ To be here with you _

Isak turns his head, and their eyes meet, and his first instinct is to avert his gaze in the same fashion when that boy caught him staring earlier, but only seconds later, he’s shyly turning back to face Even, whose blue eyes are bright with laughter.

_ And now _

_ Looking in your eyes _

_ I feel in my heart _

_ The start of something new _

Even is relieved that the other boy is finally able to hold his stare as he can now get a good look at him when he's not trying to leave the stage at breakneck speed. There is an almost ethereal quality to the boy with his blond curls glowing in the spotlight in a way that makes him look cute. 

_ Now who’d have ever thought that _

_ We’d both be here tonight _

Isak splutters the words as, to his shock, Even actually divests himself of his denim jacket and, to the delight of the audience, tosses it into the crowd.

_ And the world looks so much brighter _

_ With you by my side _

With a grin, Even removes the microphone from its stand and turns to face Isak, who takes a tentative step back at the intense look in the other boy's eyes. 

_ I know _

_ That something has changed _

_ Never felt this way _

_ I know it for real _

_ This could be the start _

_ Of something new _

But dammit, Even’s smile is too bright, too infectious, and it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners in the most endearing way, and Isak can’t help the smile that forms on his lips in response. He exhales in a huff that replaces laughter as Even tosses his head back with a flourish and does absolutely nothing to ruin the meticulous quiff of his hair. 

_ It feels so right _

_ To be here with you _

_ And now _

_ Looking in your eyes _

_ I feel in my heart _

_ The start of something new _

At this point, almost all those who attended the Freestyle Club party have gathered around the stage, giddy with excitement as they are witness to two boys singing a love song and okay, their voices are off-key, but the boy wearing the hoodie is fucking hilarious with his head awkwardly bopping to the beat, so unlike the graceful actions of the other boy as he moves to the music.  

_ I never knew that it could happen _

_ Till it happened to me _

Even neatly slots the microphone back into place in its stand and grips it in both hands as he inches closer to Isak and invades the boy’s personal space, which makes Isak nervous, despite the light laugh he lets out at Even’s antics.

_ I didn’t know it before _

_ But now it’s easy to see _

In reply, Isak yanks his microphone out of its stand and steps further to the side, ensuring that that distance remains between them, his free hand keeping a steel grip on the stand.

_ It’s the start _

_ Of something new _

_ It feels so right _

_ To be here with you _

When Even advances this time, however, his fingers gently tug Isak’s out of their hold on the stand, which he then pushes away, leaving nothing between them.

_ And now _

_ Looking in your eyes _

_ I feel in my heart _

_ That it’s the start _

_ Of something new _

In his haste backing away, Isak ends up stumbling off the edge that he couldn’t see, what with him walking backwards and too busy staring up into Even’s eyes and all, and for a split second, he thinks  _ this is it, this is how I’m gonna die _ but he’s pushed upright by the crowd before he can even properly fall off and is propelled forward straight into Even’s arms.

_ It feels so right _

_ To be here with you _

_ And now _

Isak ends up bracing himself with his hands on Even’s chest and feels one of Even’s arms snake around his waist to hold Isak steady. He feels his heart race at their proximity, at the feel of Even’s skin underneath his fingertips.

As for Even, well, why the world was against him reading tonight begins to make sense.

_ Looking in your eyes _

_ I feel in my heart _

_ The start of something new _

And as the piano melody fades out, Even and Isak remain locked in their positions, both breathing heavily and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Some of Even’s hair is flopping in his face, and his breathing stutters when one of Isak’s hands reaches up to tuck the stray hair behind his ear.

When the club dissolves into loud cheers, it jolts Isak back to the reality in which he’s in a rather intimate hold with a boy in front of who knows how many people. He hurries to disentangle himself from Even, and if he’d been looking at the boy instead of pointedly anywhere else, he would have noticed the disappointment in those blue eyes.

A cough draws Isak’s attention back to the tall boy, who he finds staring down at him with a twinkle in his eyes and a small smile playing on his lips. “Even.”

Isak squints his eyes at him, feeling a little apprehensive as he eyes the hand that’s extended toward him. He locks gazes with the boy again as he tentatively shakes his hand. “Isak.”

"Isak," the boy - Even - repeats, and hearing him say his name makes Isak feel all tingly. Then Even's gesturing to the exit with a tilt of his head, his small smile now a full-blown grin. "Come outside."

Isak blinks stupidly as Even somehow manages to descend the steps walking backwards without tripping, remaining frozen on the stage as Even nears the exit, and it's only when he's halfway out the door (and the hostess startling him by popping up seemingly out of nowhere) that Isak remembers how to move and, throwing caution to the wind, scurries after Even.

***

The boys wind up at the lounge, where they help themselves to a steaming mug of hot chocolate, after briefly returning to the Freestyle Club because of course Even lasts all of five seconds exposed to the biting cold before remembering that his jacket was still inside, which then turned into a search for  _ Romeo and Juliet _ ("We spent twenty minutes looking for  _ that _ ?" "Excuse me, but ‘that’ happens to be one of the greatest literary classics. Show some respect."). 

Even finds his mother in the midst of all the adults, and Elin takes one look at the blond angel he’s with, lets out an exaggerated gasp, mimes fanning herself mouthing the word  _ hottie _ , and giving Even a wink. 

Even looks away, cheeks flushing pink and he takes a sip of his drink, returning his attention to Isak. “...but seriously, you have an amazing voice,” he’s saying. “You’re a singer, right?”

Even shakes his head, walking over to the double doors that lead out onto the lodge’s balcony and holding the door open for Isak to walk through. “Just church choir is all. I tried to do a solo once and nearly fainted.”

“Really?” Isak blows on his drink. “Why’s that?”

“I took one look at all the people staring at me, and the next thing I know, I was staring up at the ceiling.” Even tosses his head back to look at the sky and throws his arms out wide. “End of solo career.”

Isak squints up at him, setting his mug aside. “Well,” he says, hoisting himself up to sit on the balcony railing, “with the way you sang tonight, that’s pretty hard to believe.”

That insanely bright grin of Even’s is back on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and it makes Isak’s stomach flutter. “That was the first time I did that. I mean, that was so cool!”

Isak smiles shyly, awkwardly bobbing his head in a nod. “Completely.”

Even leans against the railing, elbows propped up and his chin resting on his hands, batting his eyelashes at Isak. “You sound like you’ve sung a lot, too.”

Isak snorts as he reaches over to grab his drink. “Yeah, sure,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “My showerhead is very impressed with me.”

Even lets out a hearty laugh and Isak decides right then and there that it’s his favourite sound. He preens over inciting such a response from the boy, but it doesn’t last long.

At that moment, the teenagers, having migrated from the Freestyle Club to the deck below the balcony, break out into a chant as they countdown the remaining ten seconds to the new year. The resulting cheers drown out the loud bangs as fireworks of gold, green, red and blue are set off, illuminating the night sky.

Even’s laughter dies out, but his eyes linger on Isak, whose eyes twinkle as he tilts his head back, enchanted by the fireworks display, in awe of his beauty as Isak’s features light up with the different colours of the fireworks.

Isak breathes out a “Wow” as he watches the sky, and beside him, Even hums in agreement. Isak turns his head to find Even much closer to him, his face inches away, eyes fixated on him with a heated gaze that makes Isak gulp, his throat suddenly feeling dry, and Isak finds that he doesn’t really want to move away, not this time. So he simply tilts his head toward Even and raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge to close the last of the distance between them.

And if the doors hadn’t banged open at that moment, maybe Even would have.

“Isak!”

Hearing his name, Isak lurches away from Even, his head snapping to the doors, to see his father standing right there. The look of fear in Terje's eyes spark a spike of dread in Isak's chest.

_ Please don't say it. _

“Mamma's….had an accident.”  _ Fuck _ . “Where's Lea?”

“I….left her in the club.” Isak bites his lip and turns his body so that he can peer behind him at the crowd still gathered on the deck, wondering if his sister is even still down there. His gaze flickers back to Terje. “Want me to go find her?”

“Please,” his father implores.

Then he turns on his heels and retreats into the lounge, leaving Isak to glare at the back of his head as he does so, gnashing his teeth. It's only when he feels Even's hand grasping his, their fingers tangling together, that Isak remembers that he's not alone. Releasing a heavy breath, he feels himself relax enough to glance over his shoulder at Even, who's observing Isak with his face clouded with concern.

“Everything….okay?”

“Yeah.” _ No. _ “Everything's chill.”  _ Everything's pretty fucking far from okay. _ “But….I do have to go.”

Extracting his hand from Even's, leaving him feeling cold, Isak hops off the railing. He picks up his mug, ready to head for the doors and hunt for his sister when Even calls, “Wait.”

Isak turns and narrows his eyes when he sees a pen in Even's hand. “What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

_ Oh. _

That fluttering feeling returns full-force and Isak approaches Even with his wrist outstretched. The other boy grips his wrist lightly, and Isak's skin begins to feel tingly where Even's fingertips touch him. His eyes are on Even's lips as he sticks out his tongue whilst writing his number on Isak's hand.

Again, when Even releases him, Isak feels cold, but he glances down at the number and meets Even's eyes. “Guess I'll text you later.”

Even gives him a toothy grin. “Good night, Isak.”

“Good night, Even.”

With a shy smile, Isak turns away from Even, making his way over to the double doors where he pauses and casts a final glance at Even, his back now turned to him.

It's after the doors slam indicating Isak has left that Even dare looks back, and his gaze remains on Isak as he watches the boy through the large windows until he reaches the staircase down to the Freestyle Club and disappears from his sight.

Even turns back around, his legs swinging over the edge of the railing where he still sits. He wraps his cold fingers around his drink and raises it to the sky.

"Happy fucking New Year."


	2. Faking Smiles and Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I wasn't really expecting people to like this; that's so cool. Thanks so much to those who have commented; I really appreciate it <3  
> Shoutout to my aunt for betaing and bashfulisak for writing the party scene and the basketball team name, it's amazing.  
> Chapter title comes from "We Don't Have to Dance" by Andy Black.  
> Hope you enjoy xx

His mother, as Isak learns from Terje, had had a nervous breakdown triggered by the explosion of fireworks being set off, something that neither he nor Terje had taken into consideration, which was, admittedly, so fucking stupid on their behalf. With Lea being _the_ only one of the three able to somewhat calm Marianne down in the midst of an episode, it is imperative to find her, and so Isak rushes into the Freestyle Club in a frenzy to search for his younger sister.

He ends up finding her on the verge of sleep, curled up on the couch. Lea is a grouch, at first, after being disturbed, but then her eyes widen in terror, mirroring Isak's as he explains to her what's happening. They race up the stairs, narrowly avoiding adults as they run through the lounge, and then they finally reach their room, where Terje is desperately trying to placate his wife, and relief floods through him when he sees Isak appear in the doorway with Lea at his side.

Lea comes forward to take Terje's place on the bed next to her mother, who has her legs drawn up to her chest and her forehead resting on her knees, her shoulders trembling as she rocks back and forth. Lea tentatively reaches out to wrap her arms around Marianne's shoulders, leaning in to soothe her with whispered words that encourage Marianne to lift her head up. When she does so, Lea is filled with hope, thinking that her mamma is going to be okay.

But then Marianne's bloodshot eyes fall on Isak, who is restlessly lingering in the doorway. She raises a trembling hand to point to him and begins to chant something indecipherable, no louder than a murmur, and it's only when her voice rises into a scream do they understand what she's saying.

_Abomination_.

Marianne is off the bed, then, wrenching herself from Lea's hold and lunging at him. Terje steps in, roughly grabbing her wrists, keeping her from lashing out at their son, who is hit by the nauseating realisation that maybe the fireworks aren't what's responsible for upsetting his mother.

Later, when he takes a shower, Isak scrubs furiously at his skin, nails digging into his flesh harsh enough to leave half-crescent markings, trying to cleanse himself from the ghost of a boy's touch, until he's red and raw and unable to distinguish shower water from tears.

***

The following evening, the Valtersens return from their annual trip to the lodge, and by this time, Marianne has slowly begun to recover. The persona that is more like the mother Isak and Lea remember is returning, but Isak is still too terrified to be near her with her screams still ringing in his mind. When their car pulls into the driveway, Isak lugs his suitcase upstairs and flings himself onto his bed, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from itching his still-raw skin.

He doesn't know how long he actually sleeps for or if at all because he finds himself incapable of drifting off, for one, and his continual tossing and turning isn't exactly helping. When the first rays of sunlight filter in through the gaps of his grungy yellow curtains, Isak gives up on sleeping altogether, takes another shower, this time to wake himself up, attempting to relieve himself of tension as he runs his fingers through his sodden curls

After ten minutes, he dries himself off, slips into a pair of shorts and a tee, and heads out into the backyard, where they have a basketball court - and by ‘court’ he really means just a slab of cement that’s been laid in the middle of the garden and a hoop installed on one of the edges. Isak loses himself in his practise of dribbling, shooting hoops and going left, growing increasingly irritated as his lack of sleep catches up to him, causing him to become fatigued a good deal faster than usual. He doesn’t realise that he’s being watched until he’s retrieved a ball after yet another failed shot.

Lea sits on the steps of the back porch, elbows propped up on her knees and her chin resting in her palms as she studies her brother, his sluggish movements affecting his perfect aim that he had had two days ago. She flinches when Isak lifts his head and looks at her, and she notices immediately the prominence of the dark circles under his eyes, his vibrant green eyes dull, and she pushes herself up off the stairs to make her way over to him.

Isak waits for her, throwing the ball from hand to hand as he does so, and he gives her a tired smile when she approaches. “You’re up early.”

Lea scoffs. “ _I’m_ up early? You’re the one that woke up at the crack of dawn and decided it was a good time to play basketball.” She gestures for him to pass the ball.

He shrugs, bouncing the ball over to her. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, _duh_.” She catches the ball deftly and starts tossing the ball from hand to hand, gnawing at her lip as she considers her next words. “Do you...wanna talk about it?”

Isak clenches his jaw and shakes his head vehemently, snatching the ball from her hands, beginning to dribble the ball, and as he inches closer to the hoop, Lea blurts out, “You know she doesn’t mean what she said, right? Calling you an abomination?”

The ball smashes emphatically into the headboard above the hoop and Isak whirls around to face her, breathing out a sigh and rubbing at his eyes. “I know that.”

“And...it’s not true,” she continues hesitantly, “e-even if you are…” She swallows before adding softly, “...gay.”

Isak twitches at the word. He drops the ball and it continues to bounce at his feet as his hands clench into fists at his side, breathing harsh, and as he stalks over to her, he fixes her with a cold stare, eyes squinting, and Lea flinches under the severity of his gaze.

“Of fucking _course_ it’s not true. Because I am _not_ gay.”

Lea steps away from him, hands up in surrender, slightly unnerved by the venom behind his words. Still breathing heavily, Isak feels his irritation bleeding out with every breath, shoulders sagging, and after several beats of tense silence, he walks swiftly past her back toward the house.

Once inside, after slamming the door behind him, Isak leans his head back against the door, briefly closing his eyes, and then a noise startles him into opening his eyes again.

Green eyes meet green as Isak suddenly finds himself staring at Marianne, who’d dropped a pan, probably out of shock at seeing him, given the weird way she’s observing him, and he half-expects her to scream at him again.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, Marianne’s lips quirk slightly, forming the whisper of a smile. “Good morning, honey.”

Isak stiffens, pushing himself away from the door. “Good morning,” he chokes out, unable to bring himself to return her smile, which falters slightly as she picks up on his discomfort, and when her lips part to say something more, probably about her fit, Isak bolts out of the kitchen for the stairs.

In the sanctuary of his room, Isak tears off his sweaty shirt and tosses it aside, scratching absently at his arms as he sits down on the edge of his bed, leaning forward on his arms and rubbing at his tired eyes again. His phone vibrates on his bedside table, and Isak reaches for it, turning it on, to find a Facebook notification from some random kid in his class that's posted an invite to a party that evening to celebrate the last day of vacation before school goes back. Isak is quick to confirm his attendance before throwing himself across his bed on his back and draping his arm across his eyes.

That night he turns up at the party, yet again in a hoodie and worn, holey jeans, but this time, he doesn’t feel awkward or out of place wearing this because he’s among fellow students who _know_ he’s Isak Valtersen, the best fucking basketballer Hartvig Nissen has to offer. They're too busy fawning over him to really give a rat’s ass about his clothes.

"Isak! Hi!"

Isak's stomach immediately drops at the familiar squeaky voice behind him and he manages his best smile as he turns to face Emma, who's already grinning - the smile almost blinding, "Emma, hello. It's... nice to see you here."

"It's so nice to have bumped into you here! I almost never see you at parties," Emma laughs and Isak goes along with it, swallowing down the bitter feeling in his throat as she continues talking. "How come I never see you at parties I go to?"

Isak shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn denim jeans, glancing around the room for any kind of escape, "Guess the universe is against us or something." Emma's laugh is way too high-pitched and Isak swears that by now everyone at this damn party is looking at them.

"Oh, Isak! You're so funny. Hey, listen. Could you guard the bathroom door for me? I really need to pee," Emma winks, and gives her overly bubbly and teeth clenching giggle that Isak hates.

"Uh, sure...? I can do that, I suppose."

"Great! It'll only be a sec," Emma smiles, her hand wrapping and tightening itself around Isak's wrist as she tows him across the room towards the nearest bathroom. "Hm. Change of plans. Come in with me?"

"What-"

Before Isak can protest, Emma already has him pulled into the bathroom and the door shut behind her, a sweet but secretly wicked smile playing on her lips as she steps forward, causing Isak to take a step back, and her smile falters into a pout, "You know, we were meant for each other Isak."

"Maybe in a parallel universe-"

"No, in this universe. In every universe. You and your basketball chiselled body is _so_ hard to resist. We have this bathroom all to ourselves, Isak. Come on! Live a little!"

Isak raises an eyebrow as Emma steps forward again but this time he doesn't step back - maybe just one kiss wouldn't be so bad? One little hook-up? Just to forget what's going on around him and in his life?

Emma licks her lips as Isak pulls her a bit closer, his head ducking down just slightly to meet up with her lips. She is quick to pull him down, hand in his hair and it's fast - but not heated. For Emma, maybe, but Isak just isn't feeling the exotic and tingling rush like he should be and honestly, it's scaring the fuck out of him.

Emma sighs into his mouth as their lips move against each other, her face hot and red but Isak is just going along with this in hopes Emma can just drop him and move onto some other innocent guy, but it takes a turn for what Isak isn't prepared at all for - in all the wrong reasons. His breathing stops in panic at Emma begins to kiss down his jaw - his neck - his chest - moving closer to his belt but he lets out a nervous laugh and a small 'hey' as he pulls her back up, connecting their lips again in a haste hoping she won't pull that again.

But she can't take the hint.

She begins crawling down again, and she gets to the point of unbuckling Isak's belt, when he pulls away, letting out a huff as she stands upright, raising an eyebrow and glaring at Isak who's now leaning against the tiled wall of the bathroom. Just as Emma is about to say something, someone bursts into the bathroom and calls for Emma, whispering that a Yousef guy is now here at the party and she glances at Isak one last time before following her friend out of the bathroom, leaving Isak by himself against the wall.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, head leaning back against the tiles, fighting back the bile he can taste at the back of his throat and the tears he can feel prickling at his eyes. Eventually someone comes knocking at the door, demanding it be open so whoever it is can piss, and Isak finds in himself just enough strength to push himself away from the wall and meekly make his way out of the bathroom, pulling his hood up to conceal his face as he keeps on walking until he’s out the door.

Later, when he crawls into his bed, Isak finds himself staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, unable to sleep with his skin itching from having Emma plastered all over him, and as he lies there under his blankets, all he can think about is how Even’s touch is much more preferable to Emma’s, and the thought makes his body heat up with shame.

***

Two days later, it’s back to school, and Isak of course sleeps through his fucking alarm, only waking up in a daze when his father starts banging on his door to inform him that they’re leaving in five minutes; the joys of having a parent as a teacher at your school.

So Isak has just enough time to throw on some clothes that he finds on the floor, first sniffing them to make sure they don’t smell _too_ bad, throwing a snapback on his head to cover his greasy curls, and tosses his book bag over his shoulder as he leaves his room.

The drive to school with Lea and Terje is quiet, too quiet, and it sets Isak so far on edge that when they finally pull up into the staff parking lot, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door before the car is even fully parked, eager to get the fuck away from his family.

Hartvig Nissen is full of activity when Isak walks around the side of the school to get to the front, with students mingling out on the quad in deep discussion with each other about how and where they spent their holidays. As Isak blends in with the crowd, his eyes are quick to seek out Jonas, his unruly mass of dark curls impossible to miss, even from the far corner of the quad where he’s surrounded by boys that Isak can vaguely recognise as those that make up the team.

Jonas looks up from his one-one-one game of basketball with Mahdi and straightens up with a grin as he spots Isak walking over to them.

“Isak!” Jonas greets, slinging his arm around the boy’s shoulders, and Isak fights back a flinch, despite the friendly nature of the touch. If Jonas notices the heavy dark circles under Isak’s eyes, he doesn’t mention it, but he seems to sense Isak’s discomfort and withdraws his arm, lowering it back to his side. “How ya doing, man?”

Isak gives him a tight-lipped smile, reaching up and scratching his shoulder absently. “Hey, Jonas, what’s up?” He leans over to bump fists with Mahdi in greeting. “Hey. Happy New Year.”

Seeing Isak smile puts Jonas at ease, and he has no qualms over thumping the boy on the back. “Yeah!” Jonas exclaims. “It’s a Happy _Narwhal_ New Year! In two weeks--” Here, he waves two fingers in Isak’s face as they stroll toward the main school building flanked by several of their fellow teammates. “--we’re going to the championships with you--” A sharp poke to Isak’s chest results in the boy slapping Jonas’s hand away. “--leading us to infinity and beyond.”

Jonas pauses and clears his throat, taking in a deep breath, when Magnus decides to step in and steal his thunder by cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice as he yells, “What team?” loud enough that it echoes throughout the quad.

“Narwhals!” comes the boys’ rehearsed response, but Jonas doesn’t join, opting to stand to the side and give Magnus the evil eye, which only causes the boy to smirk and earn a rough shove from Jonas.

Still glaring, Jonas clears his throat again and roars, “ _What team_?”

“ _NARWHALS_!”

And with a series of whoops and hollers, the boys make their entrance into the building, where there’s already a commotion as the sea of students scramble to make way for none other than Emma Larzen, who is back to her snobby self as is shown by her shooing students out of her pathway, her sleaze of a stepbrother, Chris, at her side.

Demanding with a gesture that the team make way for the duo, Emma struts by, her fingertips brushing against Isak’s shoulder. Isak holds his breath and swallows as his eyes meet hers, a coy smirk playing on her lips. A few cackles scatter throughout the team as they pass, the tension leaving Isak’s shoulders as he releases the breath he’d been holding, convinced that none of his teammates had seen the look Emma had given him.

“Well, well,” Mahdi says, turning to watch Emma as she walks away, a sway to her hips, “looks like the Ice Princess has returned from the North Pole.”

“You know,” Jonas muses as he taps his chin thoughtfully, “she probably spent the holidays the same way she always does.”

“Oh, yeah?” Isak quirks an eyebrow with a hint of a smile already tugging at his the corner of his lips. “And how’s that?”

Jonas comes to an immediate halt, causing the few boys behind him to come to a screeching halt as well to keep from bowling into him, and waits several beats for dramatic effect.

“Shopping for mirrors.”                                                          

The boys shriek a resounding _ohh!_ which makes Jonas snicker and Isak roll his eyes at them while they continue down the hallway. Along the way, they pass a girl dressed entirely in black, including her hijab, arms folded across her chest, regarding the team with a scowl and her upper lip curls in disdain as they saunter by.

“Ugh,” she remarks, “behold the zoo animals heralding the New Year. How tribal.”

The auburn-haired girl at her side frowns, turning her head to glimpse at the boys, then looks back at the girl in black, tilting her head. “Isn’t your brother one of the zoo animals?”

Sana blinks and the curl to her lip changes to curve into a smile, a rarity that makes her look softer, sending her partner’s heart fluttering. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Eva beams, and as the bell rings, Sana reaches for Eva’s hand, tangling their fingers together as she pulls the other girl off the wall so that they can walk to homeroom together, their joined hands swinging with every step.

Walking at what he considers to be a leisurely pace but is more like a jog for his mother to keep up, as his legs (and subsequently his strides) are far longer than hers, Even follows the principal through the throngs of students crowding the hall, hurrying to find their rooms on time, and when the principal comes to a stop in front of the door leading to his homeroom, Even eyes the door in discontent.

Elin glances up at him, worry in her eyes, especially when he grips her hand and squeezes tightly.

“Mamma--”

“No,,” she quickly cuts him off, “you’re not sick. You’re just nervous, and that’s okay.” Her face softens. “It’s your first day at a new school.” She rubs the back of his hand gently. “You’ll do great, Evi. You always do.”

Principal Skrulle with her unsettling optimism, nods eagerly as she assures, “Your transcripts are very impressive, Mr. Bech Næsheim. I expect your light will shine _ve-ry_ brightly here at Hartvig Nissen.”

Even swallows around the lump in his throat as he meets his mother’s gaze. “I...I just don’t want to be the school freak again.”

Elin’s heart breaks at his admission and throws her arms firmly around her son. “You won’t.” She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Not if you just be Even.”

He flashes her a smile, and though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it fills Elin with hope that he’ll be fine. She gives his hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go, stepping back and giving him a small wave as Skrulle ushers Even into homeroom.

***

Inside, the classroom hums with the chatter from students that are already seated in clusters according to friendship groups while the teacher - a young man who looks to be in his early twenties, with red hair, who insists that his students call him _Eskild_ because calling him ‘Mr. Tryggvason’ makes him sound like an old ass man, which he’s not, thank you - leans back lazily in his cushiony chair with his legs propped up on the desk, studying a script that’s spread across his lap.

When he notices the door opening, he lifts his gaze, eyes widening upon realising the principal is in the doorway, and he hastily removes his legs from the desk, scrambling to push his chair in closer and folds his hands neatly on his desk as he flashes a nervous smile in her direction. However, she’s preoccupied with the new student towering over her, and she shoves papers into the kid’s hands and blessedly disappears without casting Eskild a glance, and then the boy approaches him hesitantly and passes over the papers Skrulle had given him, which Eskild graciously accepts, shooing him away with a wave of his hand to take a seat.

Isak has been sitting on top of his desk, feet on his chair, smiling and greeting classmates that call out ‘hi’ as they hurry past to get to their usual seats before they’re taken, and he’s trying to listen to whatever story Magnus is regaling them with about his holidays, but he zones several times, and just ends up nodding along whenever he feels it’s appropriate.

“So, Isak,” Jonas says as Magnus finishes up with his story, gaining Isak’s full focus as he snaps back to attention, “is it true what I hear about you hooking up with Emma in a bathroom?”

“ _What_?” Magnus screeches, eyes comically wide, popping out of his head.

“Nice,” Mahdi grins.

Isak wants to scream because _duh_ his friends were going to find out; it wasn’t exactly _subtle_ the way Emma yanked him into the bathroom, nor were their exits, with Emma being hauled out by one of her friends, and Isak following minutes later, after he’d recollected himself.

That classic feeling of queasiness comes back and Isak scratches his neck, lips curving into a smirk that he doesn’t quite feel with an affirmative “Mhm.”

Magnus leans forward on his desk, an eager glint to his eyes. “What was it like?”

Uh, unwanted? She kept on going after he made it clear he _didn’t_ want it to keep fucking happening, even though, yeah, he’s the one who initiated it, but still, she wasn’t going to be stopping anytime soon. But Magnus isn’t going to be interested in that shit; so as he licks his lips, he mulls over what to say.

“Well--”

“Excuse me,” a smooth voice interrupts, and Isak realises one of his legs is now dangling off the edge of the desk, blocking some students’ path to the empty seats at the back.

“Sorry, man,” Isak says, hoisting his leg back onto the chair, attention shifting back to Magnus as the boy wearing a ridiculous denim jacket and hair styled into a quiff  moves past his desk. “Anyway, I--”

Wait, wait, wait.

A _denim jacket_?

A _quiff_?

Isak lifts his head up in a jerky movement, scanning the back of the classroom to catch a glimpse of the boy, and his eyes widen when he realises that he _hadn’t_ , in fact, imagined his appearance.

_Oh._

_My_.

_God_.

Even - the boy he met when they were picked from a crowd of dozens to sing for karaoke, the boy who he was almost certain he would never see again, who he never had the nerve to call, because...reasons - is sitting in his classroom

Even is sitting in his classroom.

Even, the boy he met when they were picked from a crowd of dozens to sing for karaoke.

Even, the boy who he was almost certain he would never see again.

Even, the boy he never called because...he has his reasons.

_What are the fucking chances_?

He’s brought out of his stupor by his worst nightmare; a peppy girl with incredibly short hair and a blinding smile that screams _fake as fuck_ , suddenly appearing up close and in his personal space (as if she hadn’t spent _enough_ time there already) and looking disconcertingly cheerful considering he rejected her.

“Hi, Isak!” Emma giggles, and he guesses she’s going for flirtatious but all she does is grate on her nerves with her stupid laugh and impeccable knack for cropping up at unwanted times.

It’s not until Mahdi thwacks him on the arm that Isak manages a smile of the same caliber as hers and squeaks out a “Hi” just as the blessed bell rings again and she’s forced to scurry to her seat which is a good few seats away from him.

At the front of the room, Eskild clears his throat dramatically, lightly patting his chest. “I trust you all had splendid holidays,” he announces in his sing-song lilt, causing all conversation to abruptly end. “Check the sign-up sheets in the lobby for new activities. Mr. Valtersen!”

Isak instantly switches from sitting on his desk to sitting on his chair as Eskild regards him coolly.

“Especially our winter musicale,” he continues along brightly. “We will have singles auditions--”

Jonas leans over his desk to poke Isak’s arm. “You okay?” he questions in a hushed voice.

“Yeah,” Isak replies just as quietly, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that Jonas isn’t all that convinced, and forces himself to focus on Eskild.

“--for our supporting roles and pairs auditions for our two leads,” he hears as he tunes back in to Eskild’s ramblings, and at this notice, a few tables down, Emma and Chris exchange knowing grins.

“ _Pfft_.” Mahdi blows a raspberry and Isak almost feels sorry for him when the guy is subjected to one of Eskild’s icy glares (quite terrifying on such an amiable man).

“Mr. Disi,” he says slowly, deliberately, taking a devious delight in his student’s fear, “this is a place of learning, not a hockey arena.” He makes a shooing motion as he gestures toward the basketball on Mahdi’s desk.

Mahdi meekly removes it so that it’s sitting in his lap.

Eskild looks at the notice sheet, waving his finger as he attempts to try and pinpoint where’d he’d gotten up to, and while he’s distracted, Isak takes his chance and pulls out his iPhone from his pocket. When Eskild resumes speaking, Isak’s too busy trying to surreptitiously scroll through his contacts to really pay attention to what is being said.

“There is also a final sign-up sheet for next week’s--” Eskild narrows his eyes at the paper. “--scholastic decathlon competition. Our Chem Club president,” he continues a little more confidently, “Sana Bakkoush can answer all of your questions about that.” He waves his fingers at Sana in greeting which almost manages to crack her stony facade as she returns the gesture.

Meanwhile, Isak has found Even’s number that he still has saved into his phone, never really having the guts to delete it after entering it on his hunt for Lea or after his mother’s breakdown, and he’s fucking glad he didn’t because how _else_ would he be able to determine if the boy in the back of the classroom is really Even and not some clone? He taps on the number to call.

When the phone goes off behind him, Isak whips his head around to see Even leaning over, a slight flush to his cheeks as he rummages through his bag to find the damned device.

“Ah! The cell phone menace has returned to our crucible of learning,” Eskild declares, rubbing his hands together gleefully as he all but skips back to his desk and disappears behind it.

Isak grimaces upon realising that fucking _5 Fine Fr_ _økner_ happens to be the ringtone and holy fuck he can feel the secondhand embarrassment as he turns back to face the front, head in his hands.

“Is it our phone?” Emma hisses to Chris, who simply shrugs, and with a roll of her eyes, she reaches down into her disgustingly pink bag to pull her phone out, only to be disappointed to realise that it’s not hers, nor is it Chris’s.

A throat clears above her and Emma’s blood drains from her face as she meets the disconcerting smiley face of Eskild, who proudly presents to her the familiar can that he brings out for occasions such as this.

“Cell phones,” he demands, and with an indignant squeak from Emma, the stepsiblings relinquish their phones, and Eskild adds, much to their horror, “I’ll see you in detention” with far more cheer than should be legal.

Eskild continues on the prowl around the room, eyes honing in on the new student, a ringing phone clutched in his hand, and just as he manages to switch it off, Eskild’s shadow falls over him - well, kind of does, anyways, since the kid is fucking _tall_ and even sitting down manages to only fall a couple inches short of Eskild.

“We have zero tolerance for cell phones in this class,” Eskild informs Even with a smile, a bat of his eyelashes that makes Even raise his eyebrows in discomfort, “so we will get to know each other in detention.” He holds up his can. “Cell phone.” While Even reluctantly heeds the command, Eskild smacks his forehead. “ _Ooh_! And welcome to Hartvig Nissen, Mr. Bech Næsheim.” There’s one more phone that’s left to be collected, and Eskild saunters away from Even’s desk to the front rows, where Isak is still sitting with his hands covering his face, his phone exposed as it sits by his elbow, forgotten.

“Mr. Valtersen, I see your phone is involved,” Eskild tuts, picking up the offending item and dropping it into the can, “so we will be seeing you in detention as well.”

“That’s not even a possibility, Mr. Tr--uh, Your Honour,” Jonas comes stumbling to Isak’s defense, “because we have basketball practise, and Isak here--”

Eskild fakes a dainty yawn. “That will be fifteen minutes for you too, Mr. Vasquez. Count ’em.”

“That could be tough for Jonas, since he probably can’t count that high,” Sana comments under her breath, but that probably isn’t the wisest thing to do when the teacher is standing right next to your desk and is handing out detentions left, right and centre, and his head whips around to stare at her warningly.

“That’s fifteen minutes for you as well, Sana!” Eskild scolds, wagging his finger as the girl in question gapes, but rather than argue and potentially make it worse for herself, she begrudgingly accepts the punishment, crossing her arms. Eskild places one hand on his hip, holding the can up high by two fingers as he addresses the class as a whole, “Shall the carnage continue? Holidays are over, kiddies, way over!” He takes in a deep, calming breath to compose himself before that lively smile is back on his lips. “Now. Any comments? Questions?”

The room falls deadly silent and remains that way for approximately five seconds before one brave soul shatters the quiet, shooting his arm up, and Eskild sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Magnus.”

“So how were your holidays, Eskild?” Magnus asks.

The class lets out a simultaneous groan at Magnus’s genuine curiosity for the answer, and _knowing_ that, simply put, it’s not the brightest idea (just like most things Magnus says), particularly as such a question typically prompts Eskild to go off on a rant involving things that the students as a whole would prefer _not_ to hear because the images that the vivid depictions of his escapades conjure are just - _ew_ \- but they’re saved by the bell, ringing before Eskild has the opportunity to open his mouth, and chairs are promptly shoved backwards as the students surge as one toward the door.

At the head of the group, Isak is the first to exit the classroom, and he’s tempted to wait beside the door for Even, who he knows will be one of the last few to come out as he’d been sitting at the back, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to, as when Jonas passes, he raises his bushy eyebrows at him, his expression reading,  _what the fuck are you doing_?  He backtracks to sling his arm around Isak’s shoulder, to lead him to their first class, and Isak complies with a pout and a glance over his shoulder at the door. He quickly snaps his head back to face the hallway when he sees Even walking out the door, not  _quite_ ready for the other boy to recognise his presence. As he and Jonas continue down the hallway, Magnus and Mahdi come up alongside the boys, Magnus assuming his usual position next to Isak while Mahdi walks next to Jonas.

 “ _Ugh_ ,” Jonas bemoans, dragging Isak back to reality. “We’ve only been back five minutes and already got a  _detention_. Can you believe it?”

Isak chuckles lightly. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t opened your big mouth, you wouldn’t have a detention.”

“And leave you to suffer in detention alone?” Jonas huffs as he elbows the other boy playfully. “This is what bros are for, man.”

“Besides,” Magnus chimes in, twirling his finger near his temple, “the guy is  _cray-cray_.”

 “Mhm,” Mahdi hums in agreement. “You said it, bro.”

***

It’s during his free third period – the time allocated during the school day that the Nissen Narwhals have time for practise – when he’s on his way to the gym that Isak encounters Even again. The boy is pretty hard to miss, what with the epic battle that appears to be going on with him versus his locker.

Isak bites back a laugh as he quietly observes Even trying in vain to open the stupid thing by jiggling the lock and sliding a card between the gap, but he guesses he loses it because a second later Even’s banging his head against the locker above his. 

It’s then that Isak decides to swagger up beside the boy and lean casually against the lockers, clearing his throat. “You need a hand?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.

“ _Please_ ,” Even groans, rubbing at his temples. 

He takes a step back, allowing Isak to tackle the locker issue and Isak isn’t quite sure how exactly one opens a locker without the fucking code, so of course, by default, the logical solution is smashing his fist into it, which he does, but instantly regrets because he may have slightly miscalculated how much it would fucking hurt to slam your hand into  _metal_. He winces, biting his lip to keep from letting out a yelp of pain, but the locker opens with a loud  _pop_  which he guesses makes up considerably for his pains.

“You’re welcome,” Isak declares in a strained voice, sidestepping so that Even can access his now-opened locker, turning around with a pout as he shakes out his injured hand. 

“Thanks,  _Isak_.” 

Isak’s head snaps up, eyes widening at first, but soon squint suspiciously as he turns to Even. “H-how did you know it was me?” he demands.

“Well, I almost didn’t realise, with that silly snapback on,” Even admits, rummaging in his locker for the textbooks for his next class, “but you weren’t exactly  _inconspicuous_ with the staring, and that my phone goes off, like, five seconds after you pull yours out.” He glances at Isak slyly around the corner of his locker door. “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“I-I-” Isak flounders, not quite knowing what to say. “I was  _so_  not staring.”

Even closes his locker and raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe I stared a little bit,” Isak relents, “but that’s  _only_  because I don’t get how you’re  _here_.”

Even’s brows draw together in a frown, but it disappears in a flash, replaced by an easy smile that succeeds in distracting Isak from questioning his slight hesitation. “Well, my mamma’s company transferred her here to Oslo. I...can’t believe you live here.” He swallows, suddenly vulnerable. “I looked for you at the lodge on New Year’s Day.”

_Abomination_.

Isak twitches at the memory and his throat is dry as he rasps out in a whisper, “I know, but we had to leave first thing.”

Even raises his eyebrows again. “Why are you whispering?”

“Oh, uh.” Isak swallows, clearing his throat. “Well, my friends know about the snowboarding.” He scratches his wrist absently. “Um, haven’t quite told them about the singing thing.”

“Hey, Isak, what’s up?” A passing student claps Isak on the back and the boy startles.

“Hey!” he replies, hands forming finger guns in his awkwardness.  _Dumbass_.

Even regards him with his eyes brightened with amusement, much like they had been onstage, and Isak swallows again under his gaze. “Too much for them to handle?” Even questions, starting to walk away from his locker.

“No, i-it was cool,” Isak hurries to assure him “but, you know, my friends...it’s, uh, yeah, it’s not what I do.” He laughs humorlessly. “That was like a--” Even makes an unexpected sharp turn down one of the hallways, and Isak finds himself practically running in order to catch up. “--like a different person,” Isak finishes his sentence with a pant. “So, uh, welcome to Hartvig Nissen.” On their trek down the hallway, Isak scrunches up his face as they pass the bulletin board, taking note of the tacky fluoroescent yellow paper advertising the winter musical sign-up sheet, and he taps his finger against the paper. “Oh, well, now that you’ve met Eskild, I bet you just can’t _wait_ to sign up for that.”

Even snorts. “Um, I won’t be signing up for anything for a while. I just want to get to know the school. But if you sign up,” he teases, eyes crinkling as he grins, “I’d consider coming to the show.”

Isak sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s _completely_ impossible.”

“What’s impossible, Isak?” a totally, completely 100% unwanted voice chimes in and Emma magically pops out from behind the bulletin board. “If we don’t include getting it up, I wouldn’t think ‘impossible’ is even in your vocabulary.” Her fake smile makes an appearance when she notices Even standing at Isak’s side. “Oh, it’s so _nice_ of you to show our new classmate around.” She fishes a red pen out of her bag, proceeding to sign the audition sheet for the musical in huge, sloppy handwriting that takes up nearly the entirety of the page, and steps back with a self-satisfied smirk at her handiwork before turning back to the boys. “Oh, were you going to sign up too? My brother and I have starred in all the school’s productions and we really welcome newcomers.” She leans forward and pats Even’s shoulder. “There are a lot of supporting roles in the show. I’m sure we could find _something_ for you.”

Even shakes his head, his own plastic grin in place. “No, no, I was just looking at all the bulletin boards. Lots going on at this school. Wow.” As he passes the bulletin board, he examines the slovenliness of her cursive writing with his brows raised in silent judgement, and he calls, “Nice penmanship” as he continues on down the hall to his class.

Emma glares at the back of his head for at least two seconds before her attention diverts to Isak, who had been in the process of making a sneaky getaway and ultimately failing as she immediately pops up at his side. You’d think not being able to get it up for her would dissuade her but _nope_ , instead she just latches onto his arm.

“So, Isak, I missed you during vacation.” Emma bats her eyelashes at him and all Isak can think is how disturbingly similar she looks like Eskild when she does that. “What’d you do?”

“You know. Um.” With his free hand, Isak rubs at his neck briefly before counting on his fingers as he lists his holiday activities. “Played basketball. Snowboarding. And some more basketball.”

She hugs his arm tighter. “When’s the big game?”

“Two weeks,” he replies swiftly, holding up two fingers in her face.

“You are _so_ dedicated. Just like _me_!” Emma releases his arm to point at her chest. “I hope you’ll come watch me in the musical. Promise?”

Isak makes a non-committal noise, shoulders hunched as he tries to take his leave again, stopped only when Emma lets out a shrill, “Toodles!” to which he feels compelled to answer with his own half-hearted “Toodles” complete with a waggle of his fingers before happily walking off.

Emma stares off after Isak with a dreamy sigh before stiffening and casting one final glare down the hallway which Even had walked down, not entirely fond of the boy that had been standing so close to who is so rightfully _hers_ , before storming off in the opposite direction toward the auditorium.


	3. I Got You Stuck on My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, it's been a while - whoops! Sorry about that; I've been depressed for a while so that's been fun :)))  
> Anyways, chapter title comes from "If I Had You" by Adam Lambert.  
> Hope you enjoy xx

Stretching, Isak has decided, is the bane of his existence.

His teeth are clenched together, muscles burning with the strain as he stretches out one leg, both hands wrapped around his ankle as he moves his leg out as far as it’s able, face scrunching up from the effort.

It’s only been five minutes and he already feels like he’s dying. If it weren’t for his father’s incessant preaching about _stretching unlocks your athletic potential, Isak_ ingrained into his brain, he’d have given up, oh, about six minutes ago.

With a grunt, Isak hauls himself upright, wiping at his forehead as he turns his head slightly to regard Jonas with a scowl, watching as the boy next to him manages to switch effortlessly from holding his right ankle to his left without the need to bring his body back up as Isak does. He huffs, slightly miffed, bending over to stretch out his other leg, and as he does so, Isak clears his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, wincing as he stretches.

“So, dude,” he puffs out through gritted teeth, and Jonas tilts his head toward the other boy in acknowledgement, “you know...that school musical thing?”

Jonas lets out a grunt in response that Isak interprets as a _yes, Isak, I know that musical thing, you know that musical thing, the whole fucking school knows about that musical thing, why do you ask?_

“Is it true that you get extra credit just for auditioning?” Isak blurts out in a rush as the burning sensation running through his leg suddenly becomes too much again and he has to stand up straight in a flash to relieve it somewhat. You’d think spending his entire winter break doing nothing but basketball, basketball, and more basketball, his muscles would be nice and relaxed and used to this by now, but _no-o-o-o-o-o-o_ they’re just as tense and bitchy as ever.

Jonas slowly follows his lead with a snort. “Who cares?”

“Eh…” Isak pulls up a mental blank there and he scratches the back of his neck. “You know, it’s always nice to get extra credit,” he says weakly, “for, er, for university.” He nods to himself thoughtfully, as though that makes absolutely perfect sense and he’s not cringing on the inside because _that_ sure as hell wasn’t the lamest excuse he’s ever heard.

Evidently, Jonas seems to agree with that train of thought, if the way his caterpillar eyebrows are climbing their sceptical way up his forehead is anything to go by, and he twists his body around to fix Isak with a look that screams _are you shitting me?_ “You ever think that Lebron James or Shaquille O’Neal auditioned for their school musical?”

Isak worries his lip. “M _a-a_ ybe?” he squeaks, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“Issy, look,” Jonas sighs, stretching his arms behind his head, giving Isak a faceful of his armpit hair, and the blond’s face contorts in disgust at the sight, “the music in those shows isn’t hip-hop, okay? Or rock, or anything essential to culture.” He wrinkles his nose. “It’s like... _show music_. It’s all costumes and makeup…” Jonas trails off with a shudder. “Oh, dude, it’s frightening.” And he doesn’t miss that Isak visibly deflates at his admission and Jonas is suspicious as Isak’s shoulders sag and...is he _pouting?_ “What’s so interesting about the musical, anyway?”

Isak meets Jonas’s gaze with wide eyes as he hastily straightens up to show that no, he has no interest whatsoever in a musical, ha ha, Jonas, don’t be stupid. “I, er...well, I just thought it might be, uh, a good laugh, you know?” he splutters. _Wow. That was real impressive._

Jonas finally brings his arms back down to his sides, hiding his underarms from view (they were getting really distracting) and he casts Isak a sly smile. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with…with a _girl_ , would it?”

Isak’s quick to scoff and shake his head vehemently. “ _No_ ,” he exclaims, crossing his arms. “Don’t be _ridiculous_.”

“Not even… _Emma_?” Jonas whispers loudly, waggling his eyebrows.

Isak flounders for a minute before his eyes go hard and his stance suddenly becomedefensive. “It’s got _nothing_ to do with anyone!” he snaps. “I was…I was just _curious_. Am I not allowed to be curious without being interrogated? _Jeez_.”

Because it’s not like he’s actually going to audition, for Emma or for _anyone._

But... _maybe_ he’s a little bit interested.

Just a little bit.

And not because of a brunette.

Isak shakes himself from his thoughts as his cheeks begin to warm only to find that Jonas has ditched him and wandered over to where the rest of their team is gathered at the opposite end of the gym, and with a resigned sigh, he realises that maybe it’s time to get the ‘basketball’ part of _basketball practise_ underway.

“All right, Narwhals, pair up! Come on, let’s go!”

The boys are startled into submission as Isak stalks over, and they scramble to do as they’re told, grabbing basketballs off the rack and teaming up with whoever’s standing closest to them, spreading out to partake in warm-ups, and in no time at all, the gym fills with the squeaking of sneakers and the thudding of basketballs as the boys pass to each other, block, shoot baskets in their groups.

_Coach said to_

_Fake right and break left_

_Watch out for the pick_

_And keep an eye on defence_

Isak, in a rarity, is paired with Magnus, who winds up being his guard, which is fortunate, as when Isak takes the opportunity to feint to his right, as Terje had coached him through over the break, the movement oh-so-surprisingly catches Magnus off-guard, allowing Isak to pass the ball to Mahdi, waiting expectantly to his left, without interference. When the ball is safely in Mahdi’s clutches, he takes off dribbling toward the hoop, and Isak scurries after him, Magnus hot on his heels.

_Gotta run the give-go_

_Take the ball to the hole_

_And don’t be afraid_

_To shoot the outside “J”_

Isak manages to outrun Magnus, races to be in front of Mahdi, hounded by Jonas, and seconds before Magnus catches up, Mahdi throws the ball overhead to Isak, Jonas missing the ball by mere inches, and Isak catches it on the full. Now with Magnus back to guarding him, Isak makes a run for the hoop, keeping his back to the other boy to shield the ball, and leaps into the air, throwing the ball for the basket.

_Just keep your head in the game_

_And don’t be afraid_

_To shoot the outside “J”_

_Just keep your head in the game_

A satisfied grin plays on Isak’s lips as the ball goes clean through the hoop.

He collects the ball as it bounces over to him, tossing it to the next pair and gives way to allow them to shoot for the basket, directing them when their placement is wrong, feeling a sense of achievement as his boys improve with every throw.  

_You gotta get’cha, get’cha your head in the game_

_We gotta get our head in the game_

When Isak calls for their attention, the boys reconvene, crowding around their captain as he relays their next instructions, nodding their assent, before they disperse, and once more it’s a free-for-all, with basketballs being flung every which way, and it’s a clusterfuck at first, as no-one’s paying _quite_ as much attention as they ought to, no matter how many times Isak demands that they get their stupid heads in the game, but they’ll finally adhere to the demand once someone gets smacked by a stray ball. It’s then that they form a...somewhat orderly queue before the hoop and take turns as shooter and guard.   

_Let’s make sure that we get the rebound_

_’Cause when we get it then the crowd will go wild_

_A second chance, gotta grab it and go_

Isak nails his shot when it’s his turn to score and then swaps to guard, grabbing the ball and throwing it to the boy who’d been behind him in the line as it’s his turn to shoot. The ball ends up bouncing off the backboard with a distinct thud when the boy throws it and Isak is quick to grab it on the full.

_Maybe this time we’ll hit the right notes_

Isak doesn’t notice that he’s paused, spaced out, the ball still gripped tightly in his hands, until he feels one of his teammates tap him sharply on the shoulder. He snaps back to his senses, blinking out of his stupor, cheeks flushing under the many gazes he can feel on him in that moment.

_Wait a minute, not the time and place_

Then Isak’s hastily tossing the ball over his head, as if simply the touching it scalds him, wanting to get as far away from it as possible, and his teammates rush off in pursuit. Jonas spares a worried glance at the blond boy’s back as he remains off to the sidelines where he’d paused.

_Wait a minute, get my head in the game_

Isak closes his eyes briefly and presses his palms to his temples, breathing in deep once, twice, then exhaling shakily, shaking his head vigorously for good measure, and then opening his eyes again.

_Wait a minute, wait a minute_

He deems that his head is clear of whatever the fuck _that_ was that had overcome him, and Isak turns on his heels, running to rejoin his team in the middle of the gym, where they have crowded together in a circle and are lazily passing the ball to one another while one boy in the middle tries to block the passes.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

Isak merges seamlessly with the other boys, easily fitting into the circle, and the ball ends up back in his hands not long after, but his aim is pretty shit, so the boy in the middle snags it, and with a grumble, Isak takes up the position he’s earned.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

And he’s just as good in the middle as he’d been when he was part of the circle for all of ten seconds. Or was it worst, since now he can’t seem to block the fucking ball the many times that it whizzes by his head, and maybe if his earlier space our hadn’t left him feeling off, his head a little cloudy, maybe he wouldn’t be so infuriated at being thrown off his game that he wants to scream.

_Why am I feeling so wrong?_

_My head’s in the game_

He clutches at his curls, tugs at his hair in frustration that a sharp pain stings his scalp.

_But my heart’s in the song_

_He makes this feel so right_

Isak’s eyes widen suddenly, as though he’s reached some great miraculous revelation, which…no, he hasn’t. Not really. He’s been aware of it for a while now; as much as he wants to _pretend_ it’s not a thing (and he can hook up with as many girls as he damn well pleases) it’s still very much a thing that’s been…relatively easy to ignore, and he avoids it because it’s wrong, wrong, _wrong_ – his mamma’s made it abundantly clear that this thing, these feelings, this fluttering in his chest that he’s been getting more frequently when he sees a boy, is an abomination.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

And maybe that’s the revelation – at the very least the harsh reminder – with which Isak takes a deep breath, relinquishes his hold on his hair, and squashes whatever this fluttery bullshit he’s feeling thanks to a passing thought of him, because he’s not about to let some pretty boy mess with his head and jeopardise his game, thank you.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

So the next time the ball flies toward him, Isak’s ready, and he snatches it out of the air, taking off dribbling toward the hoop, and when he throws it straight into the basket, he can feel the tension somewhat bleed out of him, and for the first time since the beginning of practise, his head feels…clear. Lighter.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

By now, the other boys have retrieved the many basketballs strewn across the gym, each arming themselves with a ball of their own as they line themselves up alongside Isak as he leads them through solo drills, passing the ball from left to right and back again, rolling the ball across their shoulders, starting from the right and moving to the left.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

Throw the ball in the air and catch it, twice to the left, turn to the right, pass the ball behind your back, throw it over your head and catch it.

_Come on, get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

Dribble the ball to the right and walk in a square formation, thrust the ball out to the left then right, put right leg out, bounce ball under the leg and again for the left side, throw ball again overhead and pass around body from left to right by passing around your back.

_I gotta get my head in the game_

_You gotta get your head in the game_

And finally, dribble twice to the left, spin with a flourish to the right, and with a resounding chorus of “Woo!” all twelve boys launch their basketballs in unison at the hoop, though not all of them make it through, obviously.

Not that anyone cares, because as soon as they’d thrown their basketballs, they all began to run as one toward the changing rooms, whooping and hollering, and Jonas’s voice echoes across the gym as he shouts, “ _What team_?”

“ _Narwhals_!” comes the roared response.

“ _What team_?”

“ _Narwhals_!”

“ _What team_?”

“ _Narwhals_!”

“ _Narwhals_!”

“ _Get your head in the game_!”

As their voices fade away into nothing but a distant background noise, Isak remains out on the floor, frozen in place, his chest heaving from exertion, and feels exhaustion settle into his bones, worn out both mentally and physically.

When one of the dozen basketballs comes bouncing to a stop at his steep, the boy gingerly reaches down and picks up the ball, turning it slowly in his palms, and then, in deliberation, he shoots one final basket before turning on his heels to wearily trail after his teammates, shoulders slumped as his hands rub tiredly at his eyes.

***

In the meantime, on the other side of the school, in the science labs, Even has been lightly drumming his fingers on his table to an unfamiliar beat that’s been keeping his mind from wandering as he chews absently on his pencil while waiting for the teacher, Lars, to finish writing the answers to their class assignment on the board, which he’s doing at a terrifically slow pace.

So Even doesn’t feel _too_ guilty about his attention being diverted when a head pops up beside him through the gap in the shelf next to his table that divides the two classrooms.

“So!” Emma Larzen’s distinctive sickeningly sweet voice chirps, an equally hostile smile painted on her lips, and her sudden appearance already has Even overcome with the urge to smack his head on his desk. “It seems like you know Isak Valtersen?” She now has her chin propped up in her hand and is blinking up at him expectantly.

Even turns his head slightly to glance at her, blinking stupidly, still chewing on his pencil that he quickly takes out of his mouth. It’s an innocent enough question, he supposes, but there’s something unsettling about the way this girl’s fixing him with a cold stare. “Not really,” he answers finally, which is the truth, to some degree. “He was just showing me around.” Assuming that’s the end of the conversation, he turns back to the board to find that Lars has _finally_ finished writing the answers, and eagerly proceeds to go about correcting his work.

But of course, Emma’s not finished, highly unsatisfied with Even’s answer, and her eyes narrow to slits as she observes the boy, uncertain if he’s telling the truth, which she doubts, because why the _hell_ would Isak Valtersen want anything to do with this nobody who apparently _really_ likes math?

She _ahem_ s to get Even’s attention, hoping that he would look up from his stupid equations, but when that doesn’t get the desired response, she continues to speak anyway, informing him snootily, “Well, Isak doesn’t usually interact with…” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper, “ _new students_.” Her lip curls in disdain as if the simple existence of new students somehow offends her.

Surprise briefly flickers across Even’s face before his expression returns to one of indifference as he continues to only look from the board to his work. “Why’s that?” he asks, disinterested and distracted now by actually doing his work, and he’d appreciate it if the human equivalent of a migraine would kindly fuck off now.

“Well--” Emma continues to grate on Even’s nerves, and gosh, he _really_ needs to learn not to encourage conversations he doesn’t want to be part of. “--you see, it’s pretty much basketball 24/7 with him.”

At this point, Even’s chewing on the end of his pencil again, eyes narrowing because he’s pretty sure that one of the equations in the answers Lars has written on the board is wrong. “That should be sixteen over pi,” he mutters to himself, just loud enough for Emma to hear.

However, since his classroom is silent as his fellow students diligently check their work, Even’s voice is also _just_ loud enough to also be overheard by Lars, who turns around to look at Even, his pen poised and a brow raised in challenge. “What was that, Mr. Bech Næsheim?”

Emma smirks maliciously and Even flushes at being called out, feeling terribly unnerved under the gaze of each student, dashing any of his hopes of getting through at least _one_ class without drawing attention to himself. Yet instead of curling in on himself as he so desperately wants, Even takes the pencil out of his mouth again and clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says meekly, “but I couldn’t help but notice, uh...shouldn’t the second equation read sixteen over pi?”

Lars glances at the board with his eyes squinted. “Sixteen over pi?” he scoffs, crossing his arms. “That’s quite impossible.” But he picks up his calculator and punches in the equation, consulting the answer he gets with the one he has written on the board and purses his lips. “I stand corrected,” he begrudgingly admits to Even as he changes the equation on the board.

Even can’t help but grin to himself, feeling a little pleased with himself as he marks his equation as correct while Emma, who he’s forgotten is still right there, slumps over in disbelief and rolls her eyes, shaking her head to herself, deciding that there’s absolutely no way Isak could _possibly_ be interested in this nerd.

***

When Isak leaves the locker room, it’s with a promise to meet up with his boys in the cafeteria; he’s got something that he needs to do first. So when he leaves with his bag slung over his shoulder, Isak forgoes putting on his snapback, instead pulling his hood over his head to hide his face when he merges with the students already crowding the hallways, making sure that none of his friends are following him, feeling every bit a traitor as every step he takes lead him to the bulletin board that he’d been standing in front of with Even only a little over an hour ago, but feels like a lifetime ago, what with his brain having being muddled ever since.

Again he’s staring at the most recent addition to the board, and he doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting from looking at it, seeing that there is still only one pair that’s signed up, since Emma’s messy scrawl takes up the whole fucking page; besides, he’s not actually going to sign up, he’s just curious.

At least, that’s what Isak tells himself when he takes note of the time of auditions tomorrow, and then turns on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets as he walks in the direction of the cafeteria, not realising that Chris Schistad is eyeing him with narrowed eyes from across the hallway, and continues to stare at Isak until he’s out of sight, indistinguishable from the rest of the students.

Chris only takes his eyes off what he thinks to be Isak’s retreating back when he notices Emma stalking by with a stormy expression on her face, and he reaches out to grab her arm before she can walk past him and promptly drags her over to the sign-up sheet.

“Isak Valtersen was looking at our audition list,” he announces in a heated whisper.

“ _Again_ ?” Emma demands, horrified. “You know, he was hanging around with that new boy and they were _both_ looking at our list. There’s something... _freakish_ about that boy,” she adds, still not over her unhelpful interaction with Mr. Sixteen-Over-Pi, and then she turns thoughtful, her brow furrowing as she taps her chin. “Where did he say he was from?”

When Chris doesn’t immediately respond, Emma turns to face him, only to find that he’s zoned out and is staring at the sign-up sheet somewhat dopily, and with a scoff, roughly shoulders him out of her way as she struts off, leaving Chris to scurry after her in his own time.

Emma marches into the school library like a woman on a mission as she hones in the computers in the back, and her first course of action once she sits down and logs into one of the computers is to open Facebook and furiously type _Even Bech Næsheim_ into the search bar.

Nothing.

Emma narrows her eyes in confusion. Did she spell his name wrong? She’s certain she didn’t. Maybe the site just...made an error. She refreshes the page.

Nothing.

It takes a couple more page refreshes before Chris finally suggests, “Maybe he doesn’t _have_ a Facebook.”

Emma snorts. “It’s 2017, Chris. Of _course_ he’s going to have a Facebook.”

“Clearly not,” he points out and is quickly shut up by a vicious glare.

Begrudgingly, Emma thinks her brother is right, and possibly Even _doesn’t_ , in fact, have a Facebook, which further proves his ‘freak’ status. So she closes that tab and simply types Even’s name, hoping a good old fashioned Google search would come up with _something_.

Oh, boy, and does it deliver.

One of the links that first pop up on the screen leads to a news article depicting a school in Bergen whose scholastic decathlon team had been led to victory due to a certain “whiz kid” as the headline had stated, and the article is accompanied by an image of Even holding the plaque that his efforts had earned him.

“Wow,” Chris says, voicing Emma’s thoughts, “so he’s an Einstein. Why do you think he’s so interested in our school musical?”

Emma frowns at the screen. “Oh, I’m not too sure that he is. And we needn’t concern ourselves with amateurs, but…” She trails off thoughtfully, an idea slowly forming as she rereads over the article, “there’s no harm in making certain that Even’s welcome to school activities that are….well, appropriate for him.” With a growing smirk, Emma prints off the document.

“After all,” she adds, once she has the printed copy in her hands, “he _loves_ pi.”

***

Detention, as it always is, is held in Hartvig Nissen’s auditorium, which usually isn’t a bad thing, although now there’s a school musical to prepare for, which means that from now on, any student that winds up with a detention will either be constructing the set or painting set pieces or bringing the school’s entire collection of costumes out from storage - all in all, not too terrible.

Except that it’s Eskild who is the teacher in charge of detention on this particular afternoon, and there’s a certain way that he likes things to be done, especially with the costumes that are being brought out of storage. The poor souls that end up carrying out _that_ task have to adhere to Eskild’s preferences when it comes to organising the costumes, which is the typical size and colour, but these are _costumes_ , so of _course_ they absolutely _must_ be organised according to time period, too! (All in all, a pretty shit job.)

Eskild takes to monitoring the dozen students under his command like a hawk, immediately drawn over to where Isak and Jonas are working together to decorate the tree set piece, and after several moments of surveilling the two boys as Jonas paints the tree trunk while Isak climbs up the stepladder to staple felt leaves to the tree branches, Eskild moves on.

He just so happens to turn around to find Even severely distracted and, judging from his line of sight, Eskild suspects that it’s probably because he’s busy checking out Isak, so Eskild claims the boy’s attention by stepping in front of him and letting out a shrill bark of “Paint, paint! Let’s get a move on, Bech Næsheim!” complete with gesticulation that snaps Even back to his senses, and he’s quick to return to the task of painting the moon, a faint pink tinge to his cheeks while Eskild looks on in amusement.

It’s after Eskild saunters off, satisfied with the pace and precision with which Even is painting, that a set of excited footsteps hurry over in Even’s direction, and his attention, for the _n_ th time that day, is once again stolen away from the task at hand when a girl (blessedly one that doesn’t have short, boyish hair, and even better, he doesn’t recognise) squeals in delight, “The answer is _yes_!”

Even frowns at her in bewildered confusion. “Huh?” is the only intelligent answer he’s able to come up with just as another girl he most definitely knows to be Sana appears, whispering a heated warning of “ _Eva!_ ” that the girl in question promptly ignores.

“Our scholastic decathlon team has its first competition next week,” Eva continues brightly, “and there is _certainly_ a spot for you.”

Even only notices that Eva is holding a printout when Sana grabs for it, and during the girls’ scuffle over it, he manages to catch a glimpse of his very own smiling face on the paper, and realises with dread that it’s an article that had been published several months ago, when he’d been in Bergen, shortly before things over there had gone to shit. “Where did you get that from?” he asks quietly, his voice breaking up the fight.

Sana looks down at the printout that she now possesses, held out of Eva’s range, and then she looks up at Even, an eyebrow raised. “I found this in my locker,” she says slowly. “Didn’t you put it there?”

Even’s still staring at the article in mild horror. “Of course not.”  
“Oh.” Sana holds out the paper to Even, figuring he should have it back, if it was planted in her locker without his consent. “Well, you’re welcome to join our team, if you want. We meet almost everyday after school.”

“Please?” Eva adds.

Even shakes his head as he accepts the printout from Sana. “I need to catch up on the curriculum here before I even think about any clubs,” he says apologetically.

“Well, what a perfect way to get caught up!” proclaims an awfully chipper voice that Even’s heard enough of for one day. “Meeting with the smartest kids in school!” Emma moves away from the ladder prop that she’s been busy painting with Chris and comes over to lean on the part of the moon that is unpainted. “What a _generous_ offer, Sana.”

Sana gives Emma a plastic smile, then turns away to give Eva a look, her face crinkling in disgust, and Even’s _so_ thankful that there’s someone else who isn’t particularly fond of Emma and her need for sticking her nose into other people’s business.

“So many new faces in detention today!” Eskild announces, causing Emma to keep her mouth shut when she looks like she’s about to say some more. “I hope you don’t make a habit of it--” He looks pointedly over at the small group gathered by the moon. “--but the drama club could _always_ use an extra hand.” He claps his hands together gleefully. “And while we’re all here working together, let us probe the mounting evil of cellphones!”

And at the same time, Terje Valtersen is striding into the gym to convene team practise, yelling out, “Come on guys, let’s huddle up!” to the boys spread out in the space. “We’ve got two weeks until the big game!”

The boys are quick to crowd around their coach, and in no time at all, Terje notices that the team is lacking two players; most importantly, his _son_ is strangely absent, but when he asks in a steely calm voice, “Where’s Isak and Jonas?” no-one offers up an answer, much to his displeasure. “Don’t make me ask again,” he warns.

The boys remain silent, shuffling nervously, and Terje all but roars in frustration, his voice echoing throughout the gym, “WHERE’S ISAK AND JONAS?”

“Detention,” the team mumbles in answer.

With an irritated huff, Terje grits his teeth, shoving his clipboard into the hands of the closest team member, Magnus, before storming out of the gym to have some words with a certain teacher of drama, who, in the meantime, has been having far too much fun lecturing his pupils about cell phone etiquette, the constant droning of his voice lulling Jonas to sleep, taking to being inside the hollow tree trunk to try and look like he’d been working before he fell asleep, and Isak, who’s sprawled out across the tree branches, is dangling one of the many felt leaves at his disposal over the edge to tickle his best friend’s nose, which Jonas slaps away, even in sleep.

“Perhaps the most heinous example of cell phone abuse is ringing in the theatre!” Eskild lets out an exaggerated gasp. “What temerity! The theatre is a temple of art. A precious cornucopia of creative energy--” He’s distracted by the door slamming open and a so very pissed off Terje Valtersen appearing in the doorway.

“Where’s my team, Tryggvason?” he demands, waltzing into the auditorium, and his voice startles Isak, who drops his leaf, and lifts his head to meet his father’s gaze as Terje surges forward. “What the _heck_ are those two _doing_ in a _tree_?”

Eskild puts a hand on his hips, lips pursed as he peers down at Terje over his nose. “It’s called crime and punishment, Valtersen,” he answers haughtily. “Besides, proximity to the arts is cleansing for the soul.”

Terje glares. “Can we have a talk, please?” He directs his glare over Eskild’s shoulder to where he can still see Isak lounging about in the tree branches and jabs a finger at him. “And you two in the gym. _Now_.”

Isak, not really wanting to irk his father anymore than he already is, extricates himself from the tree, climbing carefully back down the ladder, and reaching into the tree trunk to haul out Jonas, who’d unsurprisingly been roused from the yelling and is looking around awfully disoriented, clutching onto his basketball for dear life as Isak drags him out of the auditorium.

***

Skrulle is leaning her elbows on her desk, her gaze flitting between the two teachers standing before her, engaged in yet another bitching session that, while amusing at first, is starting to wear her out.

“If they have to paint sets for detention, they could do it tonight,” Terje insists, “ _not_ during my practise.”

Eskild shoves Terje to the side to address Skrulle. “If these were theatre performers instead of athletes, would you seek special treatment?” he demands, and Skrulle taps her chin as she ponders this question.

“Tryggvason,” Terje growls, as he rounds on the younger man, “we are days away from our biggest game of the _year_.”

“And _we_ , Valtersen,” Eskild shoots back just as heatedly, both hands on his hips, “are in the midst of our auditions for our winter musicale as well! Hartvig Nissen is about more than just young men in short shorts playing with balls for fun!”

Terje facepalms. “ _Baskets_ , Tryggvason! They shoot _baskets_.”

“Stop!” Skrulle cries, interrupting just before Eskild can make a snippy comeback, and both teachers turn to face her expectantly, crossing their arms in unison as she calmly clasps her hands together on the desk. “Guys, listen,” she says airily, “you’ve been having this argument since the day you both started teaching here. We are one school, one student body….one _faculty_. Can we not agree on that?” It’s her turn to look at them expectantly while the two men look back at her petulantly like chastised children before turning each other and glaring.

Skrulle leans back in her chair and opens one of her desk drawers. “So, Coach,” she says as she takes out from the drawer one of her dozen miniature plastic basketballs, much to Eskild’s horror and Terje’s delight, “how’s the team looking? Isak got ’em whipped up into shape yet?”

Barely containing a scream of rage, Eskild turns on his heel and disappears out the door with an offended “ _ooh_!”, and when he slams the door, Skrulle takes the chance to shoot for the matching miniature basketball hoop that she’s got set up on the back of the door, clapping joyously when she nails her shot.

***

When Terje walks into the gym later that afternoon, it’s with a spring in his step, feeling smug that Skrulle knows what’s _really_ important at Nissen, and to make things better, he walks into the gym to find that Isak already has the boys running through a series of drills, and can’t help the surge of pride he feels at seeing his son at ease in his element as team captain.

His musings are cut short, though, when Isak turns and notices his father standing there, then calls in the boys from where they are training in different areas of the gym to form a circle as their coach approaches them.

Terje clears his throat once he’s standing in front of his team and accepts the clipboard back from Magnus. “Elvebakken Knights have knocked us out of the playoffs three years running,” he announces, “and now we are one--” He waves his pointer finger around. “--game away from taking that championship right back from ’em! It’s time to make our stand.” He begins to pace in front of them, looking each individual boy in the eye as he does so. “The team is you. _You_ are the team. And this team does not exist unless each and every one of you is fully focused on our goal.” He pauses when he comes to stand in front of Isak. “Am I clear?”

And just as he always does, Jonas steps forward and shouts his answer. “Hey, what team?”

“Narwhals!” comes the roared response.

“ _Narwhals_!” Jonas screams with a fist pump.

“GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!”

With a fond eye roll, Terje blows on his whistle, and the boys disperse.

***

After detention, which had been let out a little earlier than planned, thanks to the whole Terje and Eskild drama, Even finds himself again in the presence of Eva and Sana, with the former still talking his ear off in an attempt to coerce him to join the scholastic decathlon team apparently on the latter’s behalf.

“We’ve never made it past the first round of the scholastic decathlon,” Eva is saying, lightly nudging Even with a grin. “You could be our answered prayer!” At that, Sana looks briefly offended as she _is_ the team leader.

Even fiddles with the straps on his backpack. “I’m gonna focus on my studies this semester and help my mamma get the new house organised,” he explains slowly. “Maybe next year I’ll join.”

“But--”

Even comes to an abrupt halt and, in an attempt to change the subject of conversation to something that’s not about academic clubs, he blurts, “What do you know about Isak Valtersen?” without actually realising just what he’d asked until he sees the two girls exchange a befuddled look and the ever-so-stoic Sana raises an eyebrow, appraising Even thoughtfully.

“Isak?” she repeats, pursing her lips. “Well, I wouldn’t consider myself an expert on that particular sub-species--” She wrinkles her nose. “--however, unless you speak cheerleader, he’s pretty much _impossible_ to talk to.”

“Cheerleader?” Even echoes, tilting his head in confusion.

“As in,” Eva clears her throat as she approaches a small cluster of girls clad in their uniform of red, white and gold with _Narwhals_ printed on the front and back who spare Eva a suspicious look when she walks up to them, but it quickly fades at her next words. “Oh, my gosh! Isn’t Isak Valtersen just….the hottie super bomb?”

Then the cheerleaders simply dissolve into high-pitched squeals, with one girl in particular, Sara, screaming, “Oh, my God, he’s _so_ beautiful!”

With a loud cackle, Eva rejoins the duo, pleased with the state in which she’s left the cheerleaders, and turns to Even. “See what I mean?”

Even gives her a wry smile in response. “I guess I don’t know how to speak cheerleader.” (Which is an absolute lie, because if that’s all it takes to speak their so-called language, well, Even is pretty damn well versed already.)

“Which is why we exist in a parallel universe to Isak the Basketball Guy,” Sana tells him seriously.

“Well, have you ever tried to get to know him?” Even questions just as seriously, biting his lip when the words have left his mouth.

Sana’s eyes narrow as she regards him with an intensity that causes Even to look away bashfully, a blush breaking out across his cheeks. “Watch how it works in the cafeteria tomorrow when you have lunch with us,” she decides in an authoritative tone, “unless, of course, you’d rather sit with the cheerleaders and discuss the importance of….firm nail beds.”

Even glances down at his hands and lets out a gasp, eyes widening in mock horror as he brings his hands up to show off his fingernails. “My nail beds are history.”

Eva’s face lights up in excitement as she holds up one of her hands to show that she too has no nail beds, her free hand reaching out to snag one of Sana’s to reveal her lack of nail beds while the girl tries to school her expression to one of disinterest. “We’re like sisters!” she exclaims in delight.

And as Even bursts into surprised laughter at her declaration, he thinks that maybe his transfer to Hartvig Nissen isn’t going so badly with friends like these two.

***

Well after school has ended, as the sun is beginning to set, Isak and Terje have taken up residence in their backyard basketball court, because slacking off isn’t going to win them their championship, and Terje is determined to have Isak succeed.

In the midst of a pause after Isak shoots a basket and Terje catches it, he turns to face his son with a frown. “I still don’t understand this whole detention thing.”

Isak lets out a world-weary groan and gestures for his father to pass him the ball. “It was my fault. Sorry, Pappa,” he answers monotonously, catching the ball on the full when it’s thrown at him.

“Cross court,” Terje instructs, putting his hands on his hips, and Isak, of course, complies. He clears his throat, speaking in a softer tone. “You know Tryggvason will take any opportunity to bust my chops. That includes yours too.”

When Terje goes off running after the ball after Isak throws yet another perfect shot, the boy worries his lip, steeling his nerves. “Hey, Pappa?” he asks hesitantly. “Did you ever think about….trying something new, but were afraid of what your friends might think?”

Terje rests the basketball on his hip and furrows his brow. “You mean like, going left? You’re doing fine.” He bounces the ball back to Isak. “Come on.”

Isak catches it with an exaggerated sigh. “Well…. _no_ . I mean what i-if you wanna try something _really_ new and it’s a total disaster and all your friends laugh at you?”

Terje strokes his chin, considering. “Well then, maybe they’re not really your friends. And that was my whole point about team today. You guys have to look out for each other, and _you’re_ the leader.”

Isak rubs at his temples with one hand. “Dad, I’m not talking--”

Terje cuts short his complaints by walking up to him and placing his hands on his son’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “There are going be scouts at our game next week, Issy. Do you know what a scholarship is worth these days?”

Isak’s shoulders sag, nodding his head in defeat. “A lot,” he sighs.

“Yeah, exactly,” Terje confirms nonchalantly, “so I need you to _focus_ , Isak, come on. Get your head in the game.”

There’s something about his father’s tone that irks Isak, and this time when he’s supposed to aim for the basket, in an act of petulant defiance, he purposefully misses his target, and takes satisfaction in the indignant squawk of Terje as Isak stalks off the asphalt court.

He’s had enough of trying to get his head in the game for one day.  


	4. You Touched My Hand, I Played it Cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :)  
> It’s been awhile...again. I didn’t mean for it to get to another T W O months, but I was struggling so much with this chapter, because it’s kinda important, and I put so much pressure on myself that I just...h a t e d it and it wasn’t fun to write anymore :/  
> So shoutout to Mack for being the best goddamn cheerleader - honestly, if it wasn’t for her encouragement and screaming with me about HSM, who knows when I would’ve found the inspiration to finish this off.  
> Which would’ve been a shame because HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS IT’S TIME FOR THE MUSICAL AUDITIONS ARE YOU EXCITED I’M EXCITED but I’m also really nervous sdkfjdskfj  
> Chapter title comes from “Seven Wonders” by Fleetwood Mac.  
> Enjoy xx

The following morning starts off with Emma, being the ever faithful teacher’s pet that she is, passing over a gift bag to a delighted Eskild, with a pretty little smile that’s genuine for once as she tells him sweetly, “Just a little something for you” and Eskild, who is no stranger to receiving gifts out of the blue from her, immediately takes to rifling through the bag’s contents as the rest of his students slowly trickle into the classroom.

A despondent Even, who’s once again taken up residence in the back row, scrolls mindlessly through his phone with his chin propped up in his hand, only glancing up when a rowdy group of boys make their way into the classroom, and when he sees Isak among them, animatedly chatting away with his friends, he promptly perks up, and when Isak eventually looks up, meeting Even’s gaze, he offers him a small smile in greeting, and Even can’t help the grin that breaks across his face in return.

“Well!” Eskild declares, startling Isak as he pops up beside the boy, who’d apparently been a little too preoccupied with staring at the boy in the back row to realise that the bell had already rung, and Isak’s eyes widen comically as he meets Eskild’s expectant look and he quickly sits down with pink lightly dusting his cheeks. “I expect we all learned our homeroom manners yesterday, people?” Eskild nods to himself as he speaks with his hands on his hips as he looks around the room and scanning each individual student’s face as he does so.

Isak takes the opportunity then to look over his shoulder at Even, scrunching up his face into an exaggerated grimace (which Even ends up finding just…ugh, so utterly endearing) and Isak watches in delight as the other boy bites his lip to keep from laughing, pointedly averting his gaze, before he turns back to face the front with a huge shit-eating grin in place.

“Now, a few announcements!” Eskild continues on, rubbing his hands together with glee. “This morning, during free period, will be your chance to audition for the school musicale, both singles, and pairs. I shall be in the theatre until noon for those of you bold enough to extend the wingspan of your creative spirits!” He gets a little bit carried away at the end as he extends his arms out with a flourish.

Emma beams at this announcement, sharing an eager glance over her shoulder with Chris, and she claps her hands in childish delight while Jonas leans over his desk to whisper in Isak’s ear, “So what time is he due back on the mothership?” prompting both boys to chuckle, although Isak’s laughter is half-hearted and quickly diminishes as he shifts uneasily in his seat, again feeling somewhat discouraged (not that he’d ever admit it) by Jonas’s blatant mockery of the musical as he returns his focus to Eskild.

“Now today, darlings, we are going to discuss the importance of Shakespeare…”

***

It’s the start of free period (hallelujah) and Isak sighs with relief as he crams his textbooks into his locker, quickly slamming his locker shut before his books can fall out, only to find himself suddenly face-to-face with Jonas, who’s leaning casually up against the lockers next to him, his beloved basketball tucked under one arm, and grinning when Isak jumps.

“Yo” is all he says by way of greeting, as if he hadn’t just given Isak a heart attack and earned himself a scowl because of it as Isak tightly clutches a hand over his chest.

“What’s up?” Isak grumbles in response, his heart still hammering in his chest, as he roughly brushes past Jonas, who pushes himself off the lockers to catch up with Isak as he stalks off down the corridor, and Jonas slings an arm around his shoulders when he falls into step beside him.

“So, um, the whole team’s hitting the gym during free period,” Jonas informs Isak as he begins to steer them in the direction of said gym. “What do you want to have us run?”

“Uh, dude, you know what?” Isak rubs at the back of his neck. “I can’t make it. I gotta catch up on some…homework,” he blurts out the first excuse that comes to mind on short notice and, actually, now that he thinks about it, that’s probably something that he should do, since he did fuck all last night.

But Jonas is having none of it. “ _What_?” he snorts disbelievingly. “Hell- _o_ , it’s only the second day back.” He jabs his thumb at himself. “I’m not even behind on homework yet, and you know, I’ve been behind on homework since preschool.”

Isak laughs, though it’s awfully forced, and he reaches around Jonas to pat his shoulder. “That’s hilarious.” He then extricates himself from his friend’s grasp by slowly pulling Jonas’s arm off his shoulders. “Well…I guess I’ll catch you later, then.” He winks and offers Jonas some finger guns in farewell and then skedaddles, turning on his heels and rounding a corner, leaving Jonas behind to narrow his eyes suspiciously at the spot where Isak had just been standing.

“Homework,” Jonas repeats with a scoff. “There’s no fucking way…”

And so he hurries after Isak, turning the same corner that he’d taken, catching a glimpse of blond curls a little ways further down the corridor as Isak stops outside a classroom door, checking over his shoulder to make sure that he’s not being followed, seemingly overlooking Jonas, who’s now blended into the sea of students, and then Isak finally ducks into the room.

Jonas hugs the wall as he approaches the classroom door, leaning his head around the corner to peer into the room, where he finds Isak leaning casually against a desk and apparently engaged in small talk with the first-year students that are hanging onto his every word, and for someone who isn’t overly fond of the younger year level, Isak sure does ease into conversation with them a bit too easily and oh, boy, is Jonas certain something’s up. _What’s he doing?_

But then his spying session is interrupted by a random kid that says a cheerful “Hey” as he walks out of the classroom, causing Jonas to take his eyes off Isak, who seizes his chance to escape by scurrying to the back of the classroom and out of the second door (that the classroom has for…some reason) so that when Jonas looks around the classroom in confusion, Isak’s free to walk past Jonas without being noticed as he backtracks down the corridor to the stairs.

It’s as Isak reaches the stairs that Jonas does catch a flash of blond disappearing down said stairs, but when he reaches the stairs himself a few moments later, he doesn’t see Isak anywhere, as he had sprinted down the steps two at a time, safely reaching the lower floor seconds before Jonas leaned over the railing to look down the stairwell from above. Unable to see Isak, Jonas reluctantly pushes himself away from the railing, deciding that there’s no point in chasing after Isak; he’s late enough to practise as it is, and he really doesn’t want to risk Terje’s wrath, after they already missed yesterday’s practise because of detention.

But if Isak wants to ditch so badly, well, that’s not his problem.

***

After giving Jonas the slip and narrowing avoiding an encounter with his father, who would’ve dragged him all the way to the gym if he’d been caught, Isak finds himself hiding out in the backstage area of the school’s auditorium, hiding behind a janitor’s cart that he’d conveniently found being unused that he’s now wheeling around to look like this is where he’s supposed to be. He casually pushes his cart across the stage, but when he notices the commotion in the doorway of the auditorium as the hopefuls for the musical begin to file in with Eskild at the head of the group, he breaks into a sprint to hide behind the curtains at the other side of the stage to further conceal himself, lest he be spotted by Eskild, who’s marching up onto the stage with a small, mousy blonde tightly clutching a folder to her chest at his side.

Once onstage, Eskild promptly claps his hands to call to attention the hopefuls, who are seating themselves in the first two rows, as well as the few stagehands that have been lingering around backstage as he positions himself in the centre of the stage.

“This,” Eskild announces, extending his arms with a graceful flourish as he closes his eyes in bliss, “is where the true expression of the artist is realised. Where the inner truth is revealed through the actor’s--”

The quiet of the auditorium shatters as the school bell chooses that moment to ring, prompting Eskild’s eyes to snap back open and dramatically drop his arms back to his sides.

“Was that a cell phone?”

The gathered students instantly enter panic mode as each individual checks if it had been their phone that had gone off and caused the disturbance, only to breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the meek blonde next to Eskild clears her throat and assuages their fear.

“No, sir, that was just the warning bell.”

“Ah.” Eskild nods thoughtfully to himself, clasping his hands together, and just like that, he returns to his jovial self. “Those wishing to audition must understand that time is of the essence. We have many roles to cast and final callbacks will be held next week.”

In the meantime, Isak and his convenient cart have made their way from backstage to the hallway just outside the auditorium, and he crouches down behind the cart so that he can watch the proceedings without being spotted.

“First,” Eskild continues, “you will sing a few bars, and I will give you a sense of whether or not the theatre is your calling. Better to hear it from me now than from your friends later,” he adds in a stage whisper before resuming in his normal voice, “and our lovely composer--” He gestures to the blonde. “--Vilde Hellerud, will accompany you and be available for rehearsals prior to callbacks.”

Vilde gives a timid wave to her audience and then quickly moves to the piano, sitting down on the stool as she readies her music sheets while Eskild turns to the audience with a gleeful grin, rubbing his hands together.

“Shall we?”

***

The first student that takes the stage for auditions is a girl, with incredibly frizzy hair and a big red bow, who is horrendously off-key as she loudly bellows out the lyrics.

_It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see_

_That you were always right beside me_

Eskild leans forward on his elbows at the desk he’s situated in the front row of the audience, his clasped hands strategically placed over his mouth to hide his grimace as Vilde winces while mouthing the words along with the girl that’s now doing… some sort of dance, and in the audience, Emma Larzen’s eye twitches, unable to quite believe the horror she’s being subjected to.

_This feeling’s like no other_

_I want you to know_

And then the girl freezes because those are the only lines that she can remember, and Vilde continues to play the piano, staring at the girl expectantly as if that’s suddenly going to cause the words to magically appear in her head.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and when Eskild hums, “Mhm, yes, thank you, darling” from his desk, Vilde abruptly stops playing and lets out a quiet sigh.

“Next!”

This time, the singer is a boy with a nasally voice who manages to sing even worse than the first, having not even bothered to memorise any of the lines, instead reading them off his hands that he holds really close to his face and squints at.

_It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t sneeze—_

“See!” the boy is quick to amend, but the damage is already done.

Vilde’s eyes widen as she looks down at the piano keys, feeling somewhat embarrassed for the poor boy; Eskild raises his eyebrows and bites his lip to keep from laughing; and Emma and Chris are flabbergasted, jaws dropped open in shock, because how? How is it possible for someone to mess up that bad?

_That you were always right there next to beside me_

Eskild puts one hand to his temple, pursing his lips. “Kaspar, I admire your pluck. As to your singing,” he says while Kaspar stutters out This feeling’s like no other (which are the only lyrics that he manages to get right), and Eskild can’t help but wince. “That is a wonderful tie you’re wearing.”

Kaspar beams and doesn’t seem to realise there was nothing said about his singing, now a skip in his step as he takes his leave, and a girl with short blonde hair takes her place onstage, but unlike the other two, she ends up resting her chin in her hands as she props her elbows up on the piano, batting her eyes and occasionally winking at Vilde, who blushes and bites her lip as she diligently plays the piano, and Eskild can’t help but smile adoringly.

The fourth is wildly different again, and is all wrong, wrong, wrong, as while she has the lines down, she decides to ignore the true tempo and goes in all opera-esque, her voice reaching such a high pitch that Vilde stops playing, leaning back in her stool in mild terror while Eskild, Emma, and Chris not-so-subtlety cover their ears.

“Ah, Iben!” Eskild interrupts before the girl can get too carried away, slowly removing his hands from his ears when he’s sure it’s safe. “What…courage to pursue a note that has not yet been accessed in the natural world! Bravo! Uh, brava!”

Iben preens under the attention, but it’s short-lived when Eskild adds, “Perhaps the spring musicale would be more…uh, suitable.” Then she squeaks in outrage and storms offstage.

The fifth person doesn’t even bother singing. He just seemingly appears out of nowhere, and Eskild doesn’t even think his name is on the sign-up sheet before him, but that doesn’t stop him from being absolutely enchanted by this random boy who’s doing an elaborate ballet routine. At least, until the boy dances his way off behind the curtains and a loud _C R A S H_ follows shortly after, echoing throughout the auditorium. _Then_ Eskild’s a little worried.

***

And all the while the auditions have been taking place, Isak has remained safely hidden behind the janitor’s cart, still crouching down as he watches with rapt attention as each student takes to the stage.

 _So this is what the theatre kids do,_ he muses to himself.

“Hey.”

A sudden voice right by his ear startles Isak out of his reverie and he lets out an involuntary squeal as he flails, losing his balance and falling flat on his ass, much to the absolute delight of the fucker that had snuck up on him, and Isak lifts his head up off the ground to scowl at said fucker, only to find Even staring down at him, his beautiful face alight with mirth, and Isak’s scowl immediately dissipates.

Only for his cheeks to rapidly redden in its place when he realises that Even had just witnessed him squealing and falling over _ohmyfuckinggod!_

Quickly, Isak scrambles to his feet, subconsciously brushing himself off as he hurries to assume a casual stance, leaning with one arm on the cart.

“Er,” Isak coughs into his fist. “Hi.”

By now, Even’s schooled his expression to look a little more neutral, biting his lip to refrain from laughing as he so desperately wants to at Isak’s now dishevelled appearance. “Hi.”

Isak blinks once, twice, a little puzzled, slowly raising an eyebrow. “Hi?” he questions hesitantly.

Then it’s Even’s turn to cough awkwardly when he realises that oh, he’s already said hi, that’s why they’re in this mess in the first place, _ohmygod._

“So, um,” he begins, running his hands through his hair, suddenly feeling stressed, “did you decide to sign up for something?” He gestures with his head toward the doorway into the auditorium.

“ _No!_ ” Isak exclaims with a scoff, rolling his eyes. Then he looks at Even with wide eyes. “Did _you_?”

Even shakes his head vehemently. “Oh, no.” His brow furrows and he purses his lips. “Then…why are you hiding behind a mop?”

Still leaning on the cart, Isak slowly inches the cart away from him. _Oh, yes, very subtle_. “I’m not hiding behind a mop,” he huffs.

Even simply folds his arms, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway with a small grin. “Your friends have no idea you’re here, right?”

“Right,” Isak affirms with a curt nod, also crossing his arms.

The piano beginning to play interrupts the two boys then as the auditions continue, piquing both their interest at once. But nothing really exciting happens; the student onstage simply sucks in a sharp breath, preparing herself to sing, but freezes, overcome with stage fright, and after a good five seconds, Eskild’s waving the poor soul off.

“Thank you. Next!”

The girl is quick to scamper off the stage in shame.

Isak winces. “Um…Eskild is a little…harsh.”

Even lets out a mock gasp. “Is the Narwhal superstar… _afraid_?”

“No!” Isak denies with a scoff. “No. I’m not afraid. I…I’m just…” He struggles to find the right word, finally admitting in a whisper: “I’m just scared.”

Even nods, all traces of mocking vanished, his face serious. “Me, too,” he confides softly, “…usually.”

Before Isak is able to ask just what the heck he means by _usually_ , Eskild is standing up from his desk and starting to turn around to face the back of the auditorium. “And for the lead roles of Arnold and Minnie, we only have one couple signed up--” Isak lunges for the janitor’s cart, quickly pulling it to be in front of both he and Even, who has to squat down a little so that he’s at least the same height as the mop.

“Emma and Chris!” Eskild continues, oblivious to the mishap in the doorway, preoccupied with the clipboard he holds in his hands. “I think it might be useful for you to give us a sense of why we gather here in this...hallowed hall.” He sits wearily back down at his desk.

Upon hearing their names, with a smug little grin, Emma stands from her seat, but when Chris moves toward the stage before her, she stops him with a glare, yanking on his arm to pull him back so that she may be the one to get onstage first, and Chris rolls his eyes in exasperation, but lets her go in front nevertheless.

At the back of the auditorium, Isak and Even move out from behind the cart, sneaking into the seats at the very back row by the door and settle in to watch the audition.

Onstage, as Chris walks by the piano, Vilde leaps up from her stool and asks hurriedly before he can disappear out of range, “What key?”

Chris turns around and gives her a once-over, a lazy smirk quirking his lips. “Oh,” he says airily, already starting to walk away, “we had our rehearsal pianist do an arrangement.”

“Oh.” Vilde’s face crumples and she slowly sits back on her stool in defeat.

When Chris approaches her with their personalised microphones, Emma snaps her fingers, and the curtains fall closed at her behest at once, and with the curtains closed, Emma and Chris take a moment for a vocal warm-up wherein they whinny like horses, then letting out a deep exhale as they wave their hands over their face.

“Go!” Emma whispers loudly, and when their jaunty pre-recording graciously provided by their pianist blares over the speakers, she and Chris put their hands through the gap in the curtains and begin to click in time with the beat, simply charming Eskild while Vilde looks on in dismay at having her music twisted into some sort of pop song as the curtains draw back.

_It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see_

In a surprising turn of events, it’s Chris who starts off the number, his hand starting off clutched over his heart as he and Emma make their way down the centre of the stage, a spring in their step.

_You were always there beside me_

The two of them turn around in unison, and pretend to be shocked at seeing each other, matching fake smiles on their lips as they make eye contact with Emma batting her eyelashes.

_Thought I was alone, with no-one to hold_

_But you were always right beside me_

Now with a pout, Emma sways her way across the stage, moving in front of Chris while he moves around behind her, an arm crossed over his chest, and this time when they meet each other’s gazes and smile, there might actually be something genuine mixed in amongst all the artificiality.

_This feeling’s like no other_

_I want you to know_

In sync, Emma and Chris step forward with one foot and throw out their opposite arm with a flourish, a move that Eskild, already deeply enthralled with their performance, does not hesitate to copy.

_I’ve never had someone that knows me like you do_

_The way you do_

While Emma and Chris sway to the rhythm, Vilde watches from her piano stool, visibly disturbed, her nose scrunched up and brow furrowed in disgust as she watches the brother-sister duo singing what’s intended to be a love song to each other? Though they may not actually be related, it’s weird as hell and awfully uncomfortable to witness.

_I’ve never had someone as good for me as you_

_No-one like you_

It’s when Chris starts doing his jazz square routine that Emma’s smile falters, knowing damn well that she’d specifically instructed him not to do so, but the show must go on, so she swallows her annoyance at her dumbass brother’s antics.

_So lonely before_

_I finally found_

At this point, Eskild isn’t paying all that much attention to the performance itself, too caught up in the music, dancing in his chair and singing along; all in all, have the time of his life.

_What I’ve been looking for_

Emma and Chris spin around, ending up leaning against each other back-to-back, and then Emma’s waving her microphone about in Chris’s face, a silent order for him to hold onto it so that she can tap dance her way through the music break.

_So good to be seen, so good to be heard_

_Don’t have to say a word_

She snatches her microphone back and puts her hand to her brow, moving to the piano where, once she steps out along with Chris, hands curled behind their ears, they are up close and personal with Vilde, who scrambles to get far away from the pair, leaning as far back as she’s able on the small piano stool.

_For so long I was lost, so good to be found_

_I’m loving having you around_

Vilde heaves a sigh of relief as Emma and Chris move away to stand upright, Emma moving behind Chris to shield his eyes, coming to a stop on his left so that she can tap his right shoulder, batting her eyelashes prettily at him when he turns to face her, and Chris takes ahold of her hand, pulling her towards him, spins her around and twirling her to the other side of the stage.

_This feeling’s like no other_

_I want you to know_

From where they are seated in the back row, Isak has shrunk so far down into his seat that he’s practically on the floor, his face buried in his hands, physically unable to watch anymore. Ugh, this is so cringe, what the actual fuck is he doing here watching this shitshow?

The answer, of course, is sitting right beside him, face close enough to Isak’s own that he can feel Even’s warm breath on his cheek while the taller boy watches the duo onstage with a grimace.

_I’ve never had someone that knows me like you do_

_The way you do_

_I’ve never had someone as good for me as you_

_No-one like you_

Emma and Chris are strutting across the stage now, once more clicking in time with the rhythm. After seven steps, Emma sharply turns around and jabs Chris’s arm to force him into turning too, and then they strut that way, and Chris fucks up again by getting too carried away, for some reason moving backwards instead of forward, right into Emma, stepping on her toes, and she smacks him to get him to _stop, goddammit!_

_So lonely before, I finally found_

_What I’ve been looking for_

As the song (blessedly) draws to a close, with their free hand, Emma and Chris grab onto each other’s microphones and sway for the last few beats of instrumental; in the audience, Isak is still cringing, and Even snorts at the theatrics displayed by Eskild, who slumps over with a pout when the music finally does come to an end.

Through gritted teeth and a fake smile that’s starting to hurt her cheeks, Emma hisses, “I thought I told you not to do the jazz squares!”

“It’s a crowd favourite!” Chris protests through his own gritted teeth. “Everybody loves a good jazz square!”

Emma, with a derisive snort, leans around Chris to shoot an expectant look over at Vilde, who gulps under the brunette’s fiery glare, and starts clapping enthusiastically, the rest of the audience taking it as their cute to follow suit, and the duo bow, basking in the attention.

“Well!” Eskild declares, standing up to glance around the auditorium, prompting Isak and Even to duck their heads behind the chairs in front of them, lest they are spotted. “Are there any last minute sign-ups?”

While Isak and Even make their stealthy getaway from the auditorium by essentially crawling out the door, Chris is trying and failing to persuade the musical hopefuls into joining the theatre club, none of whom are particularly interested in the aftermath of Eskild’s criticisms.

“Don’t be discouraged,” he’s saying to a disgruntled girl, the blonde who’d spent her solo audition constantly winking, a steely grip on her arm, and she looks at him with thinly veiled disgust. “The theatre club needs more than just singers. It needs fans, too!”

With a scoff, the girl wrenches her arm out of his grip and walks off, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Buy tickets!” Chris hollers at her retreating back.

Vilde seizes her opportunity to talk to Emma when the brunette saunters by the piano, and in a moment of bravery, Vilde rushes after Emma, tapping eagerly on the other girl’s shoulder.

“A-actually,” Vilde stammers, flinching as Emma turns to look down her nose at her in clear disdain, but she swallows her anxiety and continues on, “if you do the part, with that particular song, I imagined it so much slower--”

“If we do the part?” Emma echoes in disbelief, and

Vilde realises her mistake when the brunette places a hand on her shoulder and

gives a condescending sigh. “Vilde, my sawed-off Sondheim, I’ve been in seventeen school productions.” She tilts her head, her tone mocking. “And how

many times have you compositions been selected?”

Vilde gulps. “This would be the first.”

“Which tells us what?” Emma prompts snootily.

“Um,” Vilde hesitates, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “that I need to write you more solos?”

“No,” Emma spits out, “it tells us that you do not offer direction, suggestion or commentary.” With each spoken word, she closes in on Vilde, forcing the blonde to step back fearfully. “And you should be grateful that me and Chris are here to lift your music out of its current obscurity.” At this point, she’s back Vilde to her rightful place of her piano stool. “Are we clear?”

Vilde quickly sits down on the stool and looks down at her hands that she has clasped together in her lap. “Yes, ma’am. I-I mean--” She glances up at the other girl, carding her fingers through the ends of her hair. “--Emma.”

Emma smirks at the girl’s discomfort and turns away, throwing a sickly sweet “Nice talking to you” accompanied with a waggle of her fingers over her shoulder.

“Any last minute sign-ups?” Eskild calls out again, once more scanning the auditorium for anyone brave (or stupid) enough to step forward.

But no-one does.

Isak, who’s plastered up against Even’s side as they peer through the doorway, leans in to whisper “We should...probably go,” to which Even wholeheartedly agrees.

“No?” Eskild is saying one final time. “Good. Done.” He switches off the lamp on his makeshift desk and begins to move toward the exit.

And then suddenly Even is no longer standing next to Isak, who looks on in horror as he sees Even rushing into the auditorium to catch Eskild, calling out the cursed words, “I’d like to audition, Eskild!”

Oh, nononono. Oh, fucking hell. That’s _so_ not what Isak meant by _we should go_ , not even fucking close. So Isak hides away from the door, presses himself up against the wall, unable to bring himself to watch the scene unfold. _Goddammit, Even, why? Why would you do this?_

He hears Eskild’s lilting voice reply that “Time means something in the world of theatre, young man. The individual auditions are long, long over, and there are simply no other pairs.”

And, well, shit. Isak can’t very well leave Even hanging now, so he takes a deep breath to calm himself, and pushes away from the wall with a declaration of “I’ll sing with him” as he meekly appears in the doorway, much to Even’s delight, and when he turns around to meet Isak’s eyes, he flashes him that fucking smile that crinkles his eyes, and Isak fights down the butterflies that erupt from the mere sight.

“Well, well,” Eskild drawls. “Isak Valtersen. Where is your sports...posse, or whatever you kids call it these days?”

Isak tears his gaze from Even to turn to Eskild, scrunching up his face in confusion. “Team?” he supplies questioningly.

“Ah, yes,” Eskild says, stroking his chin, “I do believe that’s the word.”

“But, um, I’m here alone.” Isak rubs the back of his neck and amends that statement. “Actually, I, uh, came here to sing with him.” He jabs a thumb at Even, who is looking at Eskild hopefully.

“Yes, well, we take these shows very seriously here at Hartvig Nissen,” Eskild informs them primly, navigating his way through the row of chairs that separates him from the two boys. “I called for the pairs audition, and you didn’t respond.” He sounds apologetic, almost regretful. “Free period is now over.”

As Eskild walks around the two to get to the exit, Isak tries to protest. “But he’s got a really good voice.”

Eskild turns to him with a blasé shrug. “Perhaps the next musicale.”

And with that, Eskild disappears through the doorway while a disheartened Even looks on after him, but Isak is so fucking relieved. Oh, thank fuck he didn’t have to actually sing.

It’s at that moment that Vilde miserably collects her music into her folder and stands up from her stool and, because she wasn’t looking where she was going, promptly trips over the leg of the piano, sending her papers flying every which way, landing with an “oof!” and a thud that catches the attention of the two boys still standing in the seated rows.

Isak winces at the sound, and is quick to hurry his way up the stairs that lead up onto the stage to help Vilde pick up the plethora of misplaced papers, kneeling down opposite her, and reaching out to gather as much of the music sheets as he is able as Even joins them, situating himself at Isak’s side, and all the while, Vilde is staring dumbly at these two boys helping her.

Glancing up briefly, Isak notices Vilde’s wide-eyed stare, and attempts a conversation while he straightens out the papers. “So, you’re a composer.” She’s still looking at him mutely and doesn’t offer up a reply, so Isak clears his throat and tries again. “You wrote the song Chris and Emma just sang? And the entire show?”

This time, his efforts grant him a weak nod from the girl as he and Even pass over to her the sheet music that she takes with a hesitant smile. “Well, that’s really cool.” When Vilde moves to haul herself up onto her feet, Isak holds out his hand for her to take, which she looks down at in shock, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she accepts his hand. “I, uh, can’t wait to hear the rest of the show.” He helps her to her feet, and as soon as she’s standing, Vilde snatches her hand away, terrified, but offers him a tiny smile in thanks.

“So, why are you so afraid of Chris and Emma?” Isak asks. “I mean, it is your show.”

Vilde looks bewildered at the concept of such a notion. “It is?”

“Ye-es. Isn’t the composer of a show kinda like the playmaker in basketball?”

And now she is totally confused. What the heck is this boy on about? “Playmaker?”

“You know, the one who makes everyone else look good,” Isak explains. “I mean, without you, there is no show.” He pauses, then gives her a grin. “You’re the playmaker here, Vilde.”

“I am?” Vilde asks timidly, a pleased smile slowly but surely making its way across her lips, growing wider when Isak nods his confirmation at her, and during this whole exchange, Even’s been looking down at Isak with a fond grin, which goes unknown by the object of his affections.  

Vilde’s gaze flitters between the two boys and asks eagerly, “Do you wanna hear the duet is supposed to sound?” Without really waiting for a response, she returns to her piano stool and sorts through her sheet music to find the right piece.

When Isak makes no move to follow her, having absolutely no inclination whatsoever to hear the duet’s proper version, but not quite having it in him to outright say that, lest he hurt her feelings, Even simply reaches out and wraps his hand around his wrist to gently tug him along to the piano, and Isak’s cheeks can’t help but flush from the touch as he trails obligingly behind Even.

Having found the right sheets, Vilde props them up on the music desk and begins to play the song that Chris and Emma had sung, only her rendition is less of a full-on pop song and more of a soothing melody. Isak rests his hand that’s not being held by Even across the body of the piano as he meets Vilde’s gaze when she briefly looks up and gestures with a nod toward the music, and feels Even squeeze his wrist lightly as he steels himself to sing.

_It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see_

_You were always there beside me_

Isak’s hesitant, because this song, ballads in general, are so not his thing, but with Vilde’s shy, encouraging smile she gives him, that he catches glimpses of intermittently, and Even right beside him, he survives.

_Thought I was alone with no-one to hold_

_But you were always right beside me_

Even, however, is totally at ease with such a song as he looks down over Vilde’s shoulder to read the lyrics scrawled across her sheet music, and feeling Isak’s gaze on him makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, a dopey grin playing on his lips.

_This feeling’s like no other_

_I want you to know_

Suddenly Even’s hand is sliding down Isak’s wrist to grasp at his hand, entwining their fingers, and Isak does his best to keep his cool when he feels his heart jump in his chest.

_That I’ve never had someone that knows me like you do_

_The way you do_

Then Even is squeezing his hand, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the music.

_And I’ve never had someone as good for me as you_

_No-one like you_

And Isak finds himself squeezing back, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel a surge of shame at touching a boy.

_So lonely before, I finally  found_

Slowly, Isak lifts his head to look at Even, finding the boy already staring down at him, cheeks flushed and a burning intensity to his blue eyes that makes it impossible for Isak to turn away.

_What I’ve been looking for_

Vilde finishes her piece on one last set of soft notes and then she pulls away from the piano, hands drawing back to her sides as she leans back on her stool to glance up at the two boys, suppressing a squeal when she realises that they’re gazing into each other’s eyes, holding hands, (ohmygod are they blushing), and she turns away abruptly with a hand clapped over her mouth, not wanting to intrude, but there’s no need, for the music stopping kinda breaks the spell, and a few moments later, Isak’s turning away from Even to look over at Vilde, clearing his throat.

“Okay,” he concedes with a slight grin, “that was actually pretty good.”

Startled, the trio onstage whip their heads toward the back of the auditorium to find that Eskild has reappeared, leaning against the doorway with a mischievous little grin, and Isak finds himself quickly dropping Even’s hand, subconsciously wiping his own on his jeans.

“You have a callback!”

And suddenly Isak’s having trouble breathing, because oh _nonono_ this wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to audition, much less get a fucking callback.

“Vilde, give them the duet from the second act. Work on it with them.”

Overjoyed, Vilde stands from the stool and reaches for her folder, beginning to furiously shuffle through the sheets to find the sheet music for the duet, speaking hurriedly as she does so. “If you guys want to rehearse, I’m usually here during free period and after school, even before school--” She triumphantly pulls out two copies of the duet and sets them on top of the piano. “We could even do it after basketball class…”

Vilde’s voice fades away into white noise as Isak nervously snatches up one of the copies, briefly flicking through the pages as a cold sense of dread washes over him.

_What the fuck has he gotten himself into?_

 

 


	5. In Some Way You're a Lot Like Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY AN UPDATE AND IT HASN'T BEEN 2 MONTHS!!!!  
> Now that Evak has broken the status quo, we're getting to the good bits - yay!  
> To clarify: When Chris is talking about “being cheated” it’s basically the same as Ryan saying “maybe we’re being punked!” in HSM. ‘Cheated by Karlsen’ is the Norwegian equivalent to the American show ‘Punk’d’ wherein, once celebrities have been pranked, they say “I’ve been cheated by Karlsen.” That’s what Chris is talking about. (Just a fun lil fact).  
> Chapter title comes from "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" by John Parr.  
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY xx

The day starts off just like any other. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, Emma Larzen is screaming…you know, just the usual stuff.

Only, Emma isn’t screaming for her usual reasons – namely being an entitled brat that flaunts about the school like she owns it, thinking that she should be treated like a queen, resulting in temper tantrums when someone ( _shock, horror!_ ) has the audacity not to agree with her.

Nope. The reason is much worse than that. Much, much worse.

Because this morning, there was supposed to be a notice pinned up on the notice board to announce the cast list for the upcoming winter musical, but that cast list hasn’t been posted. Instead, in its rightful place, is a pretty pink poster that reads –

“ _CALLBACK_?!”

Emma begins to hyperventilate and furiously fans herself with her hands, already feeling faint from having just read those dreadful words, a feeling which only intensifies as Chris reads aloud for her the details on the notice.

“Callback for roles Arnold and Minnie, next Thursday at 1530. Chris and Emma Larzen, Even Bech Næsheim…and Isak Valtersen.”

Emma almost stops breathing when Chris reads out Isak’s name, and she whips her head around to look at the notice herself, another scream escaping her lips when she finds that Chris isn’t pulling her leg, that’s _definitely_ Isak’s name on the list, paired with a boy’s name…

A boy?

A BOY?

_ISAK AUDITIONED WITH A BOY_?

“Is this some kind of joke?” Emma wails. “Isak didn’t even audition!”

Much less with a boy, and the image of Isak singing the audition song, a _love song_ , with a boy, is just…too much for her to handle.

“Maybe,” Chris says, with a gasp of realisation, “maybe we’re being _cheated_.”

Emma turns on Chris, planting her hands firmly on her hips, glowering at him in disbelief. “ _What_?” she demands.

“Maybe we’re being filmed right now!” Chris grabs Emma, starting to shake her as his voice rises in excitement. “Maybe we’ll even get to meet Karlsen!”

“Oh, shut _up_ , Chris!” Emma shrieks, flailing her arms as she slaps Chris to get him off of her. Stupid Chris and his _stupid_ obsession with shows about celebrities being pranked. _Can’t he see this is not the time to be joking about?_

A loud laugh from behind has Emma promptly turning around on someone yet again, and she’s barely able to contain her rage when she finds none other than the _entire_ Narwhal team crowded around her, with Jonas at the head, as Isak seems to be missing ( _wonder why_ ).

“What’s wrong?” Jonas asks, amusement clear in his voice at Emma’s obvious distress, which only serves to piss her off even more as she slaps her hand on the callback notice.

“ _This_!” she barks at him. “ _This is what’s wrong_!”

And when Jonas takes a step forward to closer inspect the notice, his eyes land on the name that’s causing Emma so much grief, and his eyes widen.

“What the fuck?” he breathes.

Suddenly, Isak’s weird behaviour over the last two days makes perfect sense. First, it was bringing up the musical during their basketball practise. Yesterday, it was him giving the weak excuse of having _homework_ to do because suddenly that’s more important than basketball. And now he finds Isak’s name listed on a callback notice which means that Isak sure as _hell_ wasn’t doing homework. He fucking _knew_ Isak was up to something yesterday, but never did he think that Isak would _actually_ audition for a musical. That just…doesn’t make any sense.

His eyes narrow at the name paired with Isak’s.  _Even Bech Næsheim._

Who the fuck is _Even_?

Jonas turns away from the board, brows furrowed as he looks between Emma and Chris in disbelief, and the rest of the Narwhals seize their chance to crowd around the board, gasping when they see their captain’s name.

Isak’s got a lot of explaining to do.

***

Emma’s aggravation at the situation remains with her long after the initial discovery to the point where, at lunch break, she angrily paces back and forth in front of her table, with Chris’s eyes following her movements as he bites into an apple, and Vilde sits across from him, head bent over as she dutifully writes out music for a song with which they are to audition come callback day.

Emma pauses in her pacing, hands gripping onto the handrail as she overlooks the cafeteria from her position on the second floor, taking comfort in seeing the students of Hartvig Nissen continuing to be seated in their rightful place – stoners with the stoners, brainiacs with the brainiacs, jocks with the jocks, and so on. At least _that_ hasn’t changed. Still, it’s not enough to keep her from bemoaning about the current dilemma that has befallen her as she pushes herself away from the railing and turns to face her brother.

“How _dare_ he sign up? I’ve already picked out the colours for _my_ dressing room!”

“ _And_ ,” Chris adds, “the guy hasn’t even asked our permission to join the drama club.”

Emma brings her hands down on the table with such force, it startles Vilde.

“Someone’s gotta tell this ‘Even’ the rules,” she declares.

“Exactly!” Chris reaches for his drink and takes a sip through the straw, brows furrowing thoughtfully. “And…what are the rules, exactly?”

Emma squawks in outrage and promptly turns her back, stomping over to the railing, and Chris shares a look with Vilde, who’s staring at him with wide eyes, and he rolls his eyes and grimaces back in response to Emma’s theatrics.

And in the meantime, downstairs in the cafeteria, Mahdi is a bundle of nervous energy as he, too keyed up to sit still, paces back and forth in front of his own table that he usually shares with the rest of the Narwhals. He’s tossing the basketball he’d stolen from Jonas as he paces, chewing his lip as he works up the courage to say what’s on his mind, what has been on his mind since he had seen Isak’s name on the callback notice, and filled him with hope knowing that he’s not the only member of the team to have an interest outside of basketball.

_You can bet there’s nothing but net_

_When I am in a zone and on a roll_

He finds that the words come tumbling out before he’s fully thought this through, catching the attention of the Narwhals, who pause in their chatter to stare at Mahdi in bewilderment, unsure of where his sudden outburst has come from.

_But I’ve got a confession, my own secret obsession_

Mahdi abandons his pacing, dropping the basketball as he comes marching over to the Narwhal table, where he throws his arms around Jonas and Magnus’s shoulders.

_And it’s making me lose control_

Jonas and Magnus glance at each other in confusion, a little taken aback by Mahdi’s actions, but nevertheless, the two boys smile in encouragement at their best friend. Whatever’s on his mind, of fucking course he can share, and the duo wave for the Narwhals plus the cheerleaders to come closer.

_Everybody gather ’round_

Now that he’s in the spotlight, with his boys and the cheer squad surrounding him, fixated on him, Mahdi begins to feel…well, a little overwhelmed. But goddammit, he’s come too far to chicken out now, so he pulls Jonas and Magnus closer to keep from losing his nerve.

“Well, if Isak can tell his secret, then I can tell mine.” Mahdi pauses, then lowers his voice. “I bake.”

The Narwhal, plus Jonas and Magnus, bursting into laughter at this revelation wasn’t exactly the type of reaction Mahdi had been looking for, feeling more disheartened when he overhears a cheerleader cackle, “He _bakes_?”

Is it really that big a deal?

His inner turmoil must show on his face, because Jonas sobers quickly shortly after, the smile melting from his lips as it dawns on him that Mahdi isn’t joking around.

“What?” he hisses.

“I love to bake!” Mahdi exclaims, suddenly getting excited now that his secret’s out, feeling lighter now that his friends know of his hobby. “Strudels, scones…even apple pan dowdy!”

_Not another sound_

The team can’t stand for this.

They’ve already lost their captain to the world of theatre and singing; they’re not about to lose another to something as stupid and mundane like baking.

And Mahdi just makes it worse when he further admits that “Someday, I hope to make the perfect crème brûlée!” which only prompts the Narwhals to go, well, batshit.

_No, no, no, no_

_No, no, no!_

They grip their heads, fists tightening in their hair, unable to quite believe the horrible confession Mahdi has just uttered.

_Stick to the stuff you know_

_If you want be cool_

_Follow one simple rule_

It even causes Jonas and Magnus to wrench themselves out of Mahdi’s hold and shove him in the direction of their lunch table, where Jonas’s basketball sits in the centre, a teammate having retrieved it from where Mahdi ditched it. Together, the Narwhals put one foot up on their seats and point to the basketball.

_Don’t mess with the flow_

_No, no_

Someone picks up the ball and just about launches it at Mahdi, who, once he’s caught the ball, is roughly pushed down onto his seat by Magnus and Jonas, who waggles a stern finger at him.

_Stick to the status quo_

At a nearby table, amongst her fellow brainiacs, sits Chris Berg, who’s peering over the top of her history book for the last little while, quietly observing the chaos of the Narwhal table, her interest having been piqued upon overhearing Mahdi announcing that he bakes.

Although the response…leaves a lot to be desired, she makes the naïve assumption that oh, how typical a reaction to incite from a bunch of _boys_ whose sole concern is their reputation as members of Nissen’s famed basketball team and how best to maintain it. Baking, she supposes, is not on the list – not even close.

Filled with a sudden burst of confidence, Chris turns her attention back to the table, to her fellow brainiacs, engrossed in the same history book she herself had been equally absorbed in, as she promptly closes her book.

_Look at me and what do you see?_

_Intelligence beyond compare_

The resounding _slap_! from the book as it closes has the brainiacs looking up, brows furrowing as they peer up at Chris questioningly, some of them exchanging puzzled glances; a few look peeved at being disturbed from their study; and one hasn’t even bothered looking up at all, choosing to instead remain focused on history.

_But inside I am stirring, something strange is occurring_

_It’s a secret I need to share_

The girl closest to Chris, a petite little thing with her hair tied up in pigtails, reaches for her hand, fingers wrapping around her wrist, and a warm smile gracing her lips as she speaks for the group.

_Open up, dig way down deep_

Chris stands up, roughly shoving her seat away as she does so.

“Hip hop is my passion,” she announces to the absolute horror of her friends, whose reassuring smiles twist into grimaces, which are only intensified when Chris follows up with a showcase of the dance moves she’d spent many hours perfecting with the aid of her bedroom mirror, in those late hours when she just…can’t find herself able to concentrate anymore on her studies.

“I love to pop—” Chris pops out one shoulder, nearly taking out the boy at her side, who scurries out of her way with a squeak, “and lock—” She pops out the other shoulder, causing the girl who’d earlier grabbed her wrist to hurry out of her way too, “and jam—” she shimmies, wiggling her hips in a way that has those at her table cringing, “and break!” She freezes with such spirit that her hair whips her face at full-force.

“Is that even _legal_?” demanded the boy who’d first jumped out of harm’s way as of Chris’s flamboyant moves, his tone condescending.

_Not another peep_

The brainiacs shake their heads in disappointment as they each bring a finger to their lips in the universal sign of silence by which they thrive.

“It’s just dancing,” Chris protests, with a pout as she flicks her hair out of her face, removing the strands that had been stuck in her mouth. “Sometimes I think it’s cooler than homework,” she grumbles to herself, just loud enough for her peers to overhear.

And, well, a breakdancing brainiac is about just as acceptable as a baking basketballer – in other words, simply _unheard of_.

_No, no, no, no_

_No, no, no!_

The brainiacs arm themselves with their books as they launch out of their seats to parade around their table.

_Stick to the stuff you know_

In unison, they pause in front of the table, slamming their books down in front of Chris, aggressively stabbing their index fingers to the content of whatever random page in their books they had just opened up to  

_It is better by far, to keep things as they are_

_Don’t mess with the flow_

_No, no_

They close in on Chris, circling around her much like predators on the hunt, and she feels several arms grabbing hold of her to forcefully push her back down into her seat.

_Stick to the status quo_

The petite girl with pigtails picks up Chris’s book that had wound up on the other side of the table in the chaos, opening up to the chapter that they had been assigned before lunch break, and hands it over to her with an impassive expression.

Chris meekly accepts the book and stares down at it in dismay, shielding her face as she props herself up with her forehead resting in her hand.

Tucked over in the far corner of the cafeteria, away from both the brainiacs and the Narwhals, just the way they like it, are the stoners, with their skateboards shoved under their table in a haphazard pile as they lounge about in the seats and on the tabletop, passing around a joint, which is currently in the possession of Julian Dahl and, well, all it really takes is a few puffs of that joint for him to decide to join in on the fun little sharing secrets with friends thing he’s seeing his classmates do, and he passes the joint along to the next person in line.

_Listen well, I’m ready to tell_

_About a need that I cannot deny_

The gang of stoners look up at him then, blinking slowly, dumbly, their movements lethargic as they sit up, and Julian bumps his fist into his best dude’s shoulder to grab his attention as the dude is staring dreamily at nothing.

_Dude, there’s no explanation for this awesome sensation_

_But I’m ready to let it fly_

His best dude is jolted back to reality then, looking at Julian like a stunned mullet, totally bewildered, and a similar expression is showing on the faces of the rest of the dudes and dudettes now crowding around Julian.

_Speak your mind and you’ll be heard_

“All right,” Julian announces, “if Isak wants to be a singer, then I’m coming clean.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, and his dudes and dudettes are dying of anticipation.

“I play the _cello_!”

His best dude gasps loudly at the confession. “ _Awesome_!” he cries, and then his face promptly scrunches up in confusion. “…what is it?”

Julian mimes playing a cello, but his best dude is admittedly not that bright, and smoking a joint doesn’t necessarily help him that much, as he gasps again and flails about excitedly. “A _saw_?” he screeches in delight.

Julian wants to facepalm.

“ _No_ , dude, it’s like a giant violin!”

The dudes and dudettes lean away from them at this admission.

_Not another word_

His best dude wrinkles his nose and tilts his head as he observes Julian, frowning. “Do you have to wear a costume?”

“Coat and tie,” Julian answers with pride.

_No, no, no, no_

_No, no, no!_

The stoners spring up from the table in shock, gripping their heads with what little strength they’ve got left in their limbs, and wave their hands entirely too close to Julian’s face, because how the fuck can he think it’s okay to prance about in a coat and tie and play a fancy instrument? _Is he on drugs_?

_Stick to the stuff you know_

_If you want to be cool, follow one simple rule_

They position themselves in front of him, their feet spread shoulder width apart as they lean back, arms out as if to steady them on their make-believe skateboards.

_Don’t mess with the flow, no, no_

_Stick to the status quo_

The best dude retrieves Julian’s skateboard from the mess underneath the table and roughly shoves it into Julian’s arm, whose shoulders sag in dismay as he gloomily hugs the skateboard to his chest as the dude and dudettes continue to dance around him.

_No, no, no, no!_

_Stick to the stuff you know_

_It is better by far to keep things as they are_

_Don’t mess with the flow, no, no_

_Stick to the status quo_

And it’s with the sound of hands thumping on lunch tables that the cafeteria descends into absolute chaos.

All at once, all too quickly, the lines between the ranks of a carefully constructed social hierarchy begin to blur. Suddenly there’s no clear distinction between a Narwhal or a brainiac or a stoner as they merge together and create, for one blissful moment, a student body wherein there are no betters and…and everyone is _equal_.

From the safety of her second-floor balcony, Emma observes her falling kingdom, her eyes widening with every second that passes, a growing sense of dread gnawing at her insides.

_This is not what I want_

_This is not what I planned_

_And I just got to say_

_I do not understand_

She knows, deep down, without a doubt, that things are beginning to change here at Hartvig Nissen, and it’s all because of two boys who had the audacity to audition for _her_ musical, to defy _her_ rules and throwing away years’ worth of school tradition in the process.

_Something is really_

_Something’s not right_

Emma’s hands tighten on the balcony railing as she yet again paces back and forth, and her frantic movements urge Chris to take his place by her side as, down below, the cafeteria quietens, calming down into an uneasy silence at Emma’s outburst.

_Really wrong_

_And we’ve got to get things back where they belong_

Emma and Chris turn to each other then with matching mischievous grins.

_We can do it_

Julian Dahl leaps up on top of the stoner table and throws his fist into the air.

_Gotta play!_

The stoner dudes and dudettes yank him back down into his seat.

_Stick with what you know!_

Now Emma and Chris are both clutching the railing, watching the scene unfold in the cafeteria through narrowed eyes.

_We can do it_

Chris Berg climbs up onto the brainiac table and strikes a fabulous pose.

_Hip hop hooray!_

The brainiacs wave their arms about in disbelief and outrage.

_She has got to go!_

Emma and Chris raise their arms up in the air.

_We can do it_

And Mahdi produces from his backpack a crème brûlée that he proudly presents to his teammates as he eagerly hops up on the Narwhal table.

_Crème brûlée!_

The Narwhals bring a finger to their lips to silence him.

_Keep your voice down low_

Someone smacks his arm, nearly causing Mahdi to drop his precious dessert, but luckily, with a horrified squeak, he manages to secure his hold on it.

_Not another peep, no_

_Not another word, no_

_Not another sound, no–_

_EVERYBODY QUIET!_

Emma’s voice rings loud and clear throughout the cafeteria, and with freakish synchronicity, each and every head turns in the direction of the entrance to the cafeteria, where Even has just appeared, holding a tray laden with food, with Sana at his side, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the sudden silence that has befallen the cafeteria.

Even shifts nervously under the many eyes he can feel on both he and Sana, reminded of a time at a different school where he had been the subject of a similar scrutiny. “Why is everyone staring at you?” he whispers to Sana out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, not me,” Sana replies airily, quirking an eyebrow at him as she sharply pokes his chest. “ _You_.”

“Because of the _callback_?” Even demands incredulously, beginning to feel the rising panic the longer that these eyes are on him, on the verge of bringing back unwarranted memories. “I…I can’t have people staring at me. I _really_ can’t!”

_No, no, no, no!_

_Stick to the stuff you know_

Sana startles when all hell breaks loose in the cafeteria for the second time, and she grips onto Even’s arm to steer him out of harm’s way as they navigate their way through the sea of bodies toward the outside area where Eva’s waiting for them.

_If you want to be cool, follow one simple rule_

_Don’t mess with the flow, no, no_

_Stick to the status quo_

And up above, Emma’s eyes narrow into slits, lip curling in disgust as her eyes hone in on Even, her blood boiling at the mere sight of him, and she storms over to the stairs, never once losing sight of him as she watches him weave his way through the crowd.

_No, no, no, no!_

_Stick to the stuff you know_

The door to the outside is so very close, and Sana picks up the pace as Emma makes her slow and deliberate way down the steps, Chris at her side, and, _boy_ , are they not happy.

_It is better by far, to keep things as they are_

_Don’t mess with the flow no, no_

And of course, that’s when things have to go all horribly wrong, doesn’t it?

Because in their haste to get to the door, Sana doesn’t realise they’re heading for a puddle of spilt milk.

_Stick to the status_

Emma and Chris have reached the ground floor, now, and are making their way seamlessly and swiftly through the crowd behind Even and Sana, just as they reach the puddle.

_Stick to the status_

And then Even’s slipping, losing grip on the tray, and it flies in an arc right over his head, and Emma, who just so fortunately happens to be standing close behind him, tilts her head back to watch in horror as a serving of fries with what looks to be the entire variety of sauces that the cafeteria has to offer heads right for her at full speed.

_Stick to the status quo_

Then said fries fall from the sky, landing on its target with a _splat_ , and a collective gasp rings throughout the cafeteria as everyone, with bated breath, anticipates Emma’s reaction; the girl in question initially too shocked to move.

But when she does begin to do so, it’s to slowly remove the fries from her chest, a shrill scream ripping free from her throat as she glances down and sees just how much damage has been done to her shirt, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Even just stands there, frozen, also panicking because _oh fucking shit fuck what did he just do oh my God_ , and there’s an apology ready on his tongue, but before he has a chance to utter it, Sana, having seen him about to take a step toward Emma and knowing he’s only going to make things _worse_ , takes a hold of his wrist and together they flee from the scene of the crime.

It’s then that Isak saunters into the cafeteria, his face one of puzzlement because for one, there’s Even and Sana hightailing it out the door, and there’s Emma standing in the middle of the cafeteria screaming bloody murder, and he wonders if there’s a connection between the two, but just as he takes a step forward to investigate, Jonas joins him in the doorway, a hand on Isak’s chest to keep him from delving deeper into the chaos that has now taken over the cafeteria.

“ _Trust_ me, dude, you don’t want to get involved in that. Too much drama.”

Isak lets out a noncommittal hum as he allows Jonas to lead him to their table that’s far enough to be out of the action, but still close enough to see what happens next as Eskild appears with his hands on his hips as he demands, “What is going _on_ here?”

“ _Look at this_!” Emma cries, pointing to her chest to draw Eskild’s attention to her shirt (not that it’s necessary, since it’s pretty fucking hard to miss). “That… _Even_ guy just dumped his lunch on me! _On purpose_!” Eskild lets out an outraged gasp, clapping a hand over his mouth in shock. “It’s all part of their plan to ruin our musical. And Isak and his… _basketball robots_ are obviously behind it.” Emma flaps around an arm over in Isak’s direction, who looks a little affronted by the accusation, hearing it from his table. “Why do you think he _even auditioned_? After all the hard work you’ve put into the show…” Emma’s face crumples and she looks to be on the verge of tears, her breath hitching in her throat. “It just doesn’t seem right!”

And with that, she storms off in a strop, Chris hurrying after her like the loyal subject he is, while Eskild purses his lips together and tries to keep his cool as he turns to face the basketball team, who look away suspiciously quick when they notice him glaring before he too, with a flick of his shawl over his shoulder, marches out of the cafeteria.

“The fuck was that about?” Isak mumbles to Jonas as Eskild saunters away.

Jonas turns on Isak with a look that is equal parts incredulous and irritated. “What was that about? Gee, I wonder.” He taps his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Hmm…You missed our free period workout yesterday to audition for some heinous musical.” Isak sinks lower into his chair under Jonas’s judgemental gaze. “And now, suddenly people are… _confessing_.”

It’s then that Mahdi chances to walk by, and Jonas is quick to yank his arm, pointing an accusing finger at him as he pulls Mahdi to stand in front of Isak. “And Mahdi? Mahdi is _baking_ …crème brûlée.”

“Ah.” Isak scrunches up his face and turns to Mahdi. “What is it?”

“Oh, it’s a creamy custard-like filling with a caramelized surface,” Mahdi explains excitedly, happy that at least _someone_ on the team seems to actually show some interest in his baking as he presents said crème brûlée. “It’s _really_ satisfying.”

Isak nods his approval at such a dessert and Jonas looks between the two boys in horror before settling on Mahdi with a scowl. “Shut _up_ , Mahdi!”

Mahdi walks away with a pout, shoulders sagging dejectedly and holding his crème brûlée close to his chest.

“Look,” Jonas says, bringing Isak’s attention back to him. “Do you see what’s happening here, man? Our team is coming apart because of _your_ singing thing. Even the drama geeks and the brainiacs suddenly think that they can—” He lowers his voice to a whisper as he glances around conspiratorially to make sure no one is listening in. “— _talk to us_.”

He points to the table in the corner, to where Mahdi is now _sitting_ with, _talking_ with, and _laughing_ with the stoners.

“Look!” he cries. “Even the _stoner dudes_ are mingling.”

Upon hearing Jonas’s outburst, the stoners look up and give a wave. “ _Yo_!” they holler, and Jonas turns away with wide eyes, unable to quite believe their nerve, to fix Isak with a look that says, _See what I mean?_

“Suddenly people think that they can do other stuff. Stuff that is _not_. Their. Stuff. They’ve got you thinking about show tunes, when we’ve got a playoff game next week.”

With one final frown, Jonas slides out of his seat and walks away, leaving Isak to worry his lip as he watches his best friend leave with guilt gnawing at his insides.

***

Eskild stomps into the men’s locker room, nose instantly wrinkling as he’s assaulted by the strong scent of sweat and _too much cologne_ , a hand raising up to delicately pinch his nostrils because he’s already breathed in far too much of that ickiness already.

Now unable to smell all that much, Eskild makes his way down the aisles of lockers and showers, almost colliding with some boy exiting the showers who yelps and scurries away as Eskild glowers at him before continuing on his merry way, only making it five steps when he’s stopped again, this time by a boy yelling “Head’s up!” and a towel whizzes past Eskild’s face, missing him by inches, and he lets out an indignant squawk, shuddering, and marches the last few paces to the coach’s office.

Terje is leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the table and eating a sandwich while reading the newspaper when Eskild slams his office door open, breathing heavily.

“All right, Valtersen. Cards on the table _right now_.”

“Huh?” is Terje’s smart reply.

Eskild rolls his eyes, placing one hand on his hip while using the other to point accusingly at the coach. “You’re tweaked because I put your stars in detention and now you’re getting even!”

Now Terje rolls his eyes, putting his sandwich down and leaning forward in his chair to clasp his hands together on his desk. “What are you talking about, Tryggvason?”

“Your all-star son turned up at my audition yesterday,” Eskild explains with slow deliberation as if speaking to a child. “Now, I give every student an even chance, which is a long and honourable tradition in the theatre; something _you_ wouldn’t understand.” He raises his voice, a warning edge to it. “But if he is planning some sort of a practical joke in _my_ chapel of the arts—”

“Isak doesn’t even sing,” Terje interrupts dismissively, going back to his newspaper. “At least, not outside of the bathroom.”

“Oh, well, you’re wrong about that,” Eskild informs him primly. “But I will not allow my Twinkle Town musicale to be made into farce!”

Terje tries and fails to suppress a snort, a wicked grin slowly forming on his lips. “ _Twinkle Town_?” he mocks.

_And there it is_. “See? I _knew it_!”

“Hey,” Terje says, hands up in a placating gesture, but the smirk never leaves his face, only serving to infuriate Eskild more.

“I _knew it_!” Eskild screeches.

In a huff, with a dramatic flick of the shawl over his shoulder, he promptly leaves Terje’s office, only making it a few paces away before he hears the man’s mocking voice call, “Sounds like a winner. Good luck on Broadway!”

Eskild gnashes his teeth.

***

“Do you think Emma is really, really mad at me?” Even worries as he bites his lip and jiggles his leg. “Should I apologise?”

He’s sitting outside on a bench, squished in between Eva and Sana, having successfully escaped with the latter after the, uh, (un)fortunate incident in the cafeteria.

Eva wrinkles her nose at such a suggestion, because a) why, b) that wouldn’t help matters _at all_ , and c)…why? “Look, no one has beaten out Emma for a musical since kindergarten.”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to beat anyone out,” Even protests, “and Isak and I…we didn’t even audition, we were just singing.” He crosses his arms with a petulant pout.

Sana picks at her food. “Well, you won’t convince Emma of that. I’m telling you, if that girl could figure out a way to play both Romeo _and_ Juliet, her own brother would be aced out of a job.”

Then Even’s wrinkling his nose at the mental image of Chris and Emma as Romeo and Juliet, because _yike_ , as he shifts his body to turn to Sana with a huff. “And I told _you_ that it just _happened_.” Suddenly his cheeks are flushing and he breaks eye contact with Sana, who smirks, as he looks down at his feet. “But I liked it. A lot,” he confesses quietly, bashfully, with a soft, dreamy sigh. “Did you ever feel like there’s this whole other person inside of you just looking for a way to come out?”

Sana turns thoughtful for a moment, contemplating, and she snorts. “Not really, no.”

Eva squints at her over Even’s shoulder and, despite her damnedest not to, a smile breaks out across Sana’s face, almost but not quite bashful, but it quickly fades into a grimace as the school bell rings out to announce the end of the lunch period, and with a collective sigh, the trio make their way back inside.

***

Emma wrenches her locker door open in a hurry to examine the damage done to her clothes with the help of the full-length mirror she’d had installed, her lip curling as she reaches into her locker to pick out a replacement shirt from her clothing rack, pouting as she realises that she doesn’t quite have anything that matches her pants as well as her now ruined shirt.

A throat clearing itself has Emma peeking around the edge of her locker and then immediately rolling her eyes when she sees that it’s none other than Mahdi leaning against the wall next to her locker. Well, at least he’s standing behind it so she doesn’t have to look at him.

“Hey, Emma,” she hears his eager voice saying, “I thought that since Isak Valtersen is going to be in your show—”

Emma raises a hand to waggle her finger over the top of her locker. “Isak Valtersen is _not_ in my show,” she informs him vehemently, shuddering. _Least of all with that Even thing_.

“Oh- _kaay_ , um…” Mahdi scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I just thought maybe you could watch me play ball sometime or something.”

Having found a shirt that looks decent enough, Emma removes it from its coat hanger and slams her locker shut, batting her eyes at Mahdi with a sickly sweet smile as she replies with, “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”

Mahdi’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Well, wouldn’t that be awfully uncomfortable?”

Emma flails her arms, at a loss, because _oh my god_ , what’s it going to take to dissuade this guy? She settles for a shriek of “Evaporate, tall person!” and stomping off in search of a bathroom to change into something that doesn’t have a _huge_ stain on it.

“I bake!” Mahdi calls as he watches her sashay away, adding to himself with a disheartened sigh, “if that helps.”

Which, well, it doesn’t.

And a little ways further down the hallway, Even is unlocking his own locker, only for a piece of paper to fall out and flutter to the ground once he finally gets the door open.

Even squints suspiciously down at the piece of paper, because he knows for a fact that he doesn’t have any loose leaf paper anywhere in his locker and he frowns at the paper and crouches down and –

_Oh_. It’s a note written in a hasty scribble across the page, which only serves to deepen his frown, because _who the heck is sending him notes_?

He casually checks over his shoulder to see if he is being watched, but he barely even registers as a blip on any student’s radar as they continue on their merry way to their next period, something that he should be doing too.

But he’s curious now, and his eyes quickly scan what the note says, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up into a giddy grin when he realises who wrote it.

So Even crumples up the note and shoves it into his pocket, slamming his locker shut as he walks off down the hallway in the total opposite direction to where his next class is.

***

Isak is leaning on the railing overlooking the stairwell leading up to the rooftop, idly fiddling with his phone, when he hears a set of footsteps hurrying up the stairs and, knowing immediately who it is, promptly stuffs his phone in his back pocket, a very familiar quiff popping up into view as Even reaches the top of the stairs.

Even turns around and his eyes bug out momentarily as he sees Isak staring down at him from his place amongst a whole variety of green and leafy plant life, which is probably the _weirdest_ thing he’s ever seen because he would have never pegged Isak as a guy who likes to chill out with flowers.

“Ho-ly _shit_ ,” he says whilst climbing the last few extra steps to where Isak is. “It’s like a jungle up here.”

“Yeah!” Isak responds with equal enthusiasm. “Just like that cafeteria.”

He smirks as Even comes to a stop at his side and adorably scrunches up his face as he too leans against the railing. “Where I just humiliated myself into the next century,” he grumbles.

Isak laughs, ducking his head and bumping his shoulder into Even’s. “ _No_! Come on, it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Even rolls his eyes, refusing to stay on this subject any longer than necessary, still feeling a little giddy at Isak’s touch, as the other boy hasn’t realised he’s still in his space yet. “So…is this, like, your secret hideout?”

Isak hums in affirmation. “Yeah, thanks to the science club.” He smirks proudly to himself. “Which means that the guys have no idea it even exists.”

“You pretty much have the whole school wired, don’t you, Isak?” Even asks, and there’s something about his tone that briefly unsettles Isak, but he can’t quite figure out why as he looks away, his previous smile slowly melting from his lips. “Seems to me like everyone on campus wants to be your friend.”

Isak scoffs at that, resting his chin in his palm as he glares at the ground. “Unless we _lose_ ,” he points out.

“I’m sure it’s tricky being the coach’s son,” Even muses.

Isak just shrugs. “He makes me practise a little harder, I guess.” A sudden unpleasant thought makes it to the forefront of his mind and it has him lurching upright and gripping onto the railing tightly, his knuckles turning white. “I don’t know _what_ he’s going to say when he finds about the singing thing.”

Even winces at his reaction. “You worried?”

“I…well…” Isak bites his lip, turns his body to properly face Even, for once looking the boy in the eyes. “My parents’ friends are always saying, ‘Your son’s the Basketball Guy. You must be so… _proud_.’” He practically spits out the last word, his face crumpling and he sighs, looking away. “Sometimes I don’t want to _be_ the Basketball Guy. I just want to be…” He meekly turns his gaze to Even again. “…a _guy_ ,” he finishes softly. “You know?”

“I saw the way you treated Vilde at the audition yesterday,” Even offers as he steps away from the railing to sit down on the bench a little ways away from it. “Do your friends know _that_ guy?”

At the railing, Isak hesitates, because, actually, he’s not entirely sure that they do. He tries and tries to think of a time when _maybe_ they knew that guy, but for as long as he can remember, he’s only seen as the…

“To them, I’m the playmaker dude,” he sighs in defeat.

“Then they don’t know enough about you, Isak,” Even tells him softly, and Isak glances at him shyly over his shoulder. “At my other schools, I was the Freaky Math Guy.” _Sometimes just the freak_ , he adds, but not out loud. “It’s cool coming here, and being…anyone I want to be.” And then _he’s_ the shy one, biting his lip as his eyes dart around, looking at anything that isn’t Isak when he confesses, “When I was singing with you, I just felt like…a _guy_.”

Isak gasps and clutches a hand to his chest. “You even _look_ like one, too!” he exclaims, and a giggle – _a fucking giggle_ – escapes Even’s lips, and Isak pushes himself away from the railing to plonk himself down on the bench next to him, and Even is quick to turn his body toward him so that their knees are touching.

“Do you remember in kindergarten, how you’d meet a kid and know nothing about them, then ten seconds later you’re playing like you’re best friends because you didn’t have to be _anything_ but yourself?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess?” Isak answers uncertainly, unsure of where Even’s going with this.

“Well, singing with you felt like that.”

_Oh_. Isak can’t fight the blush that breaks across his cheeks at that admission, and he coughs to clear his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, um. I never thought about singing, that’s for sure.” For some reason unfathomable to him, Isak reaches over and lightly punches Even’s shoulder. _What the fuck dude._ “Until you.”

Even chuckles sheepishly, rubbing at his arm. “So…do you really want to do the callbacks?”

“Hey,” Isak puffs out his chest, “just call me Freaky Callback Guy.”

He winks at Even, who laughs again, but his mirth doesn’t last long before it morphs into seriousness as he leans forward and places his hand on Isak’s knee. “You’re a cool guy, Isak, but…not for the reasons your friends think.” Even leans away again, and Isak finds himself craving for his touch again as Even takes his hand off his knee as he glances around at their own mini forest up here on the rooftop. “And thanks for showing me your top secret hiding place. Like kindergarten.”

Isak would have said something more in reply if he hadn’t been interrupted by the shrill ringing of the bell, effectively cutting short their time on the roof, and it’s the shared fear of getting stuck with a detention yet again that forces both boys into action lest they miss another class, their hands somehow finding their way to each other as they scamper down the steps.

And when they part ways at the bottom of the stairs, Isak most definitely does not think about how _nice_ it felt to be holding Even’s hand, nor does he have any lingering butterflies that night long after school is over.

 


	6. Everything that You'd Thought I Would be Has Fallen Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmygollygosh ANOTHER chapter???  
> I...couldn't help myself. The Evak interaction this chapter is just....skdjfdskjf  
> This chapter is also pretty darn short because *gasp* there's no song, which is sad :(  
> Also wrote this in one day, hence the speedy update, thanks to all the EIGHT (8) cups of coffee I had :)  
> (Apologies if it's not that great)  
> Chapter title comes from "Numb" by Linkin Park.  
> Hope you enjoy xx

Although their class schedules keep them apart, that doesn’t stop Isak and Even from spending every minute they can spare rehearsing for the callback, either on their own or with Vilde.

During his free period, Isak takes up residence in an empty classroom, locking the door behind him to keep anyone who happens to overhear his voice from barging in. It’s fortunate that he did so, because he’s in the middle of the chorus when Chris, who just so happens to be walking by, hears him and goes slack jawed because _no no no_ , whoever it is can’t _possibly_ be that good, and so with what he would consider to be ‘stealth’ he tries to unlock the door. Isak breaks off mid-line as he sees the handle turn, but it doesn’t open because it’s locked, and after the initial panic of being found wears off, Isak watches in growing amusement at the building frustration of whoever’s behind the door as they continue to jiggle the handle. Over on the other side of the door, Chris steps back from the door and gives it a good, hard kick, but instead of the desired outcome (as in, the door magically falling off its hinges), all he winds up with is a foot that he _swears to fucking god_ is broken, but is only just a little bruised, because all he did was give the door a light, unimpressive tap with the tip of his toes. Nevertheless, Chris lets go of the doorknob dejectedly, accepting defeat as he stomps his good foot and then limps off down the hall.

Around the same time, Even, in the short five minutes he has between his next classes, ends up in the boy’s bathroom, which is currently deserted, and the best place that he could think to hide on such a short time crunch.

And just like Isak had been interrupted by Chris, Even is interrupted by the reigning bitch herself.

Emma is strutting by the boy’s bathroom when she hears someone singing from within; her eyes twitch in disbelief because how _dare_ he, whoever he is? She backtracks to the bathroom, and Even has approximately five seconds to hide, which explains why, in his panic, he chooses to hide himself beside the hand dryers (which he’s too tall to effectively hide next to) which are positioned right next to the bathroom mirror…which defeats the purpose of even hiding in the first place.

Luckily, Emma is a very vain girl, so when she enters the bathroom and spies herself in the mirror, all she does is pose and fix her hair, oblivious to the presence of Even, who suppresses a snort as she walks out of the bathroom again, _so fucking close_ to his not-so-hiding spot, and as the bell rings, he quickly sneaks out of the bathroom.

When the time comes for Even’s free period, he spends it in the music room with Vilde, sitting beside her on the piano stool, and they giggle and laugh in between singing. Isak comes up to the music room during his lunch break while Even is dabbling in science with his newfound friends in the Chemistry Club, and as Vilde watches with a soft smile as Isak, who she’s always known as the Basketball Guy, sings his heart out using his fist as a pretend microphone while he dances around the piano, she can’t believe that she ever thought that he was at all intimidating.

It’s after school, however, that things start to go downhill, when Isak’s absence from practise is noticed for the third time in a row.

In the gym, Terje blows his whistle, and a new drill commences with each player lined up in a zig-zag and passing the ball to each other in short, hard throws.

“Let’s go, guys! Make it sharp! To the chest, come on!” Terje booms in encouragement as he walks around them. “Pop it! Come on, guys! Step with it!” He passes Jonas and nods in approval at the boy’s passes. “Come on, move it! Let’s go! Come on guys, focus! Focus! Get your head in the game! Move it!” He snatches the ball from the air before Magnus can grab it, leaning toward the boy in question. “Have you seen Isak?”

Magnus meets Terje’s eyes with bug eyes, feeling terrified because wow, there’s a huge difference between Mr. Valtersen and _Coach_ Valtersen, and he starts to sweat from being put on the spot. “Um…no, Coach,” he answers nervously, fiddling with the bottom of his sports shirt.

With a heavy sigh, Terje brings the whistle to his lips again and shoves the ball into Magnus’s arms. “Again, let’s go!”

In the meantime, Isak is in the auditorium, painting a set piece with precise strokes as he had been instructed, with Even sitting across from him a little ways away at a desk as he mans a sewing machine and fixes up one of the costumes that had been unearthed from the storage room. Every so often (which is pretty much _the whole time_ ) their eyes will meet, and that will set off one of them to move to an invisible beat, mouthing to a song, _their_ song (both of which have been permanently lodged into their brains as of Vilde) which will cause the other to grin dopily, and it always ends with them looking down bashfully at the task at hand before their eyes flicker back to each other’s and the whole process repeats itself.

It’s in the middle of Isak mouthing _that we can’t reach_ as he playfully mimes reaching for Even across the room that the inevitable happens and Eskild appears out of thin air and fixes him with an unimpressed look, prompting Isak to shrink in on himself, turning a very pretty shade of red as Even bursts into laughter, and it’s like music to Isak’s ears.

***

Back in the gym, the whistle is blown once again, this time to announce the end of practise, just as Isak bursts into the gym, panting, out of breath, having sprinted all the way over from the auditorium, but at hearing the whistle, he hesitates, lingering in the doorway.

“That’s it, guys,” Terje is saying, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s hit the showers.” When Jonas passes him, Terje reaches out and pats the boy on the shoulder in approval. “Good hustle. Let’s see that in the game, all right?” he asks, to which Jonas responds with a salute in confirmation.

When Jonas turns around and moves toward the door, his lip reflexively curls in disdain at seeing Isak standing there guiltily in the doorway, and as Jonas shoulders his way past, unable to look at him, he shoves the ball he’s holding none too gently into Isak’s arms.

Swallowing nervously, now clutching a basketball, Isak slowly wanders into the gym to where his father awaits, pointedly looking away from him, expression hardened with such disappointment that Isak can’t help but feel ashamed for missing practise, again, and the atmosphere between them is uncomfortable, tense and suffocating, as neither is willing to look each other in the eye.

Isak wets his lips. “I, uh…think I’m going to stay a while,” he says, breaking the silence. “Maybe work on some free throws.”

“Well,” Terje says heatedly, finally turning to glance at his son as he crosses his arms, “since you missed practise, I think your team deserves a little… _effort_ from you today.”

Isak bites his lip and casts his eyes downward, feeling his father’s disappointed stare boring into him, before he hears Terje walking away, the echo of his footsteps becoming fainter with each step, until it’s only Isak, a basketball and the hoop that remain in the gym.

So Isak, now left to his own devices, shakes away his feelings of guilt and takes to the court, dribbling the ball at his own pace with ease, and successfully pulls off a jump shot, too preoccupied with getting his head in the game to notice that the door his father had walked out of had opened again and in walks someone that is definitely neither Terje nor one of the Narwhals.

“Wow,” Even says as he saunters up toward Isak, watching as he bends over to retrieve the ball, Even’s sudden presence causing the boy in question to startle. “So this is your real stage?”

A chuckle escapes Isak at Even’s wording as he tucks the ball under his arm, slowly straightening himself up, flustered. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” He shrugs. “Or just, you know, _a smelly gym_.”

Even comes to a halt beside Isak with a smile as he makes grabby hands for the basketball, which Isak very reluctantly passes over to him with squinty eyes, only for them to widen in shock when Even oh so casually tosses at the basket and _actually_ gets it in with little to no effort (which impresses Even himself, because he had _no idea_ he could actually _do_ that).

“What the _fuck_!” Isak exclaims in mock outrage, planting his hands firmly on his hips as Even reclaims the ball. “Don’t tell me you’re good at hoops _too_!”

Once he collects the ball, still a little blown away by his own skills, Even returns to Isak’s side, the smile already on his lips evolving into a shit eating grin. “You know,” he says nonchalantly, tucking the ball under his arm now, “I once scored forty-one points on a league championship game.”

A look of total wonderment comes over Isak’s face and Even has to hold back a giggle because there’s _no way_ that Isak is _actually_ going to believe him –

“No fucking way!”

Okay, _wow_ , that’s definitely a yes way for Isak believing him, and Even hums out an _mm-hm_ to further egg Isak on. “And!” he exclaims, leaning in close to Isak, who shivers as Even whispers in his ear, “in the same day, I invented the space shuttle _and_ microwave popcorn.” And then, to top it off, he winks at Isak.

(Or tries to, rather, because it ends up looking as more of a blink than a wink.)

It takes a moment for Isak to get it, distracted by Even’s pathetic attempt at a wink which warms his insides, and when he finally does, he roughly shoves Even away from him with a roll of his eyes. “Oh, microwave popcorn!” Isak reaches over and snatches the ball from Even, shooting the boy a fake smile. “Ha-ha. Funny. _Very_ funny.”

Even actually _does_ chortle then at Isak’s reaction, resulting in a pout as he lines up the ball and throws, already on the move to take off after it before it goes through the hoop.

“So, uh,” Even says, rubbing the back of his neck as Isak bounces the ball all the way back to the sideline where he is standing. “I’ve been rehearsing with Vilde.”

“Oh, yeah, me too.” Isak gives the ball one more bounce before clutching it in his hands, his expression suddenly turning serious. “And, um, by the way, I missed practise.” He gesture with an arm around them at the gym which is empty, save for the two of them. “So if I get kicked off the team, it should be on your conscience.”

Even scoffs, disbelieving, as Isak readies himself for another throw. “Hey!” he protests heatedly. “ _I_ wasn’t the one who told you to sing—”

Isak pauses just before the throw, the ball balancing by his fingertips as he turns back to Even, a cheeky grin breaking across his face and lighting up his faux-serious expression. “Even, _chill_.”

Realising that he’s been had, Even’s jaw drops as he gasps, affronted, then his face twists into a playful scowl as he promptly reaches over and swiftly yanks the ball from Isak’s slack grip, already dancing out of reach when Isak’s brain catches up to what the fuck just happened.

“Hey, that’s travelling,” Isak protests, mostly to himself as Even is getting further away. “No—oh my _God_ , Even, that’s _really_ bad travelling!”

He’s yelling now as he takes off after Even, who’s now laughing, the sound filling up the gym, but then his laughter cuts off into a squeak when he sees that Isak is rapidly closing the distance between them—one of the perks of being an athlete, he suppose, something which he very much _is not_ —and just as Even is about to start running again, Isak is upon him, swiftly wrapping his arms around his waist with an “Oh, no you don’t!” and Even shrieks, dropping the ball, because Isak fucking Valtersen has managed to _lift him off the ground_ , what the hell, and he grips onto Isak’s arms as he’s spun around in the air, and then both boys dissolve into laughter, their combined giggles drowning out the sound of the gym door opening and slamming shut, followed by footsteps slapping on the floor.

“Hey, hey! Mister! I’m sorry, this is a closed practise!”

Isak immediately deposits Even back on the floor and turns to face his father, who’s looking not at all pleased as he storms over. “Pappa, come _on_ ,” he protests, “practise is over.”

“Not until the last player leaves the gym,” Terje responds curtly, folding his arms as he glares at Isak. “Team rule.”

“Oh.” Even coughs awkwardly into his fist, his previous smile dimming. “I’m sorry, sir.”

With Terje’s gaze now focused on Even, Isak chooses this as an appropriate opportunity for introductions, rubbing his neck as he says, “Um, Pappa, this is Even Bech Næsheim.”

“Ah,” Terje says snootily, with a curl of his lip, his glare returning to his son at full force. “your detention buddy.”

Even bites his lip, well aware that by now that his presence is very much unwanted and is only going to cause Isak more grief with his father. He reaches out to Isak, hesitates, and then retracts his arm back to his side, unsure if Isak would want him to touch him in front of his father. “Um, I-I’ll see you later, Isak,” he says awkwardly, after a moment, and gives a half-hearted wave at Terje. “Nice meeting you, Coach Valtersen.”

“You as well, Mr. Bech Næsheim,” Terje calls out, his voice monotone, his eyes never leaving Isak as he watches Even exit the gym over Terje’s shoulder, and it’s only when the door slams shut that Isak meekly shifts his attention to meet his father’s stony gaze.

“Pappa,” he says slowly, “detention was _my_ fault, not his.”

“You haven’t missed practise in _three years_ , Isak,” Terje grounds out. “ _That boy_ shows up—”

“‘That boy,’” Isak interrupts primly, “is named _Even_. A-and,” he stammers, tripping over his words, “he’s very nice.”

Terje snorts. “Well, helping you miss practise doesn’t _make_ him ‘very nice’! Not in my book. Or your team’s.”

 _Yeah?_ Isak wants to say. _Well, you can take that book and shove it up your—_ he mentally cuts himself off right there. “Pappa, he’s not a _problem_ ,” he opts for instead, raising his voice. “He’s _just_ a _boy_.”

“But you’re not _just a boy_ , Isak!” Terje explodes, and the intensity and harshness of his tone causes Isak to flinch, his cheeks beginning to blossom in anger. Terje sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose to compose himself, and when he speaks again, his tone is much softer, almost placating, as if Isak were a child. “You’re the team leader. What you do affects not _only_ this team, but the entire school.” Isak clenches his fists at his sides and looks away from his father, instead choosing to go and retrieve the basketball from where it had rolled to after Even dropped it. “And without you _completely_ focused, we’re not gonna win next week. The championship games—they don’t come along all the time. They’re something special.”

At the end of his father’s little speech, Isak fixes his father with a cold stare, tossing the ball from hand to hand. “Yeah?” he spits out. “Well, a lot of things are ‘special’, Pappa.” _Not everything revolves around fucking basketball._

“But you’re a playmaker, not a singer.” Terje gives a nervous chuckle. “…right?”

He wants to hear Isak say yes, to hear him confirm that yes, this is all just some silly rebellious teenage phase; yes, he’ll forget all about this new boy and the singing thing that comes along with him; yes, he’s still Isak the fucking _Basketball Guy_ , the little boy who grew up succumbing to his father’s every wish because he so idolised him and wanted to follow in his footsteps.

But he’s not that kid anymore; it’s taken him a good decade to figure out that the fantasy of being the Basketball Guy is vastly different to actually _being_ the Basketball Guy; and he’s not sure that he likes that that such a title dictates what he can and can’t do with his life.

So Isak doesn’t give Terje the satisfaction of hearing him laugh, say _ha-ha, yes, this was all a wild hoax. Musical? I don’t know her!_ Instead, he asks quietly, with no heat behind his words, “Did you ever think that maybe I could be both?”

He doesn’t know what reaction he’d been hoping to elicit from Terje, so it’s not all that surprising that his father doesn’t actually _have_ an answer, other than looking at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as he flounders about to try and find _something_ to say. But Isak isn’t interested nor does he really care what his father has to say, and makes it abundantly clear by tossing the basketball over his shoulder as he walks away, leaving Terje to stand in the middle of the gym, flabbergasted by his son’s behaviour.

When Isak pushes the door open on his way out of the gym, he’s not all that surprised to see that the Narwhals have all gathered around, leaning against the door, quite obviously having been eavesdropping on his conversation with Terje, and he just feels… _done_ , so done that he just doesn’t have the strength in him to deal with his teammates right now, so he settles for simply walking away, for once not feeling panicked at the prospect that, given he doesn’t know how long they’ve been there, maybe they’d seen him with Even.

***

Isak’s sour mood sticks with him well into the following day, resulting in him avoiding his fellow Narwhals whenever he happens to cross paths with them, opting to cancel a scheduled rehearsal with Vilde in the music room _just_ so he wouldn’t have to walk by the cafeteria and potentially be spotted, instead taking up residence in the library during his lunch break.

Unfortunately, he can only avoid a confrontation with his team for so long, as it’s in the library that Jonas pounces on him, having been friends with Isak long enough to know just where he’d be when he’s in a funk.

“What spell has this elevated-IQ boy thing cast that suddenly makes you want to be in a musical?” Jonas immediately demands upon finding Isak in the midst of scouring a bookshelf in the middle of the Biology section.

Isak barely even looks away from the shelf as he gives Jonas his answer, again irked that Even is being stuck with the blame for all Isak’s life choices. “Look, I just did it. Who gives a shit?”

“‘Who gives a shit?’” Jonas echoes, none too quietly. “How about your most loyal best friend?”

The librarian, a perpetually tired young woman with red hair, appears as if summoned at the corner by the bookshelf, glowering at Jonas as she tells him in her monotone, “Quiet in here, Mr. Vasquez.”

“It’s _him_ , Linn,” Jonas protests, feigning innocence, “not me.”

Linn’s eyes narrow into slits, but she begrudgingly accepts this and disappears as fast as she’d appeared, much to Jonas’s relief as he turns back to Isak.

“Look,” Jonas says, spinning the basketball on his fingertip, “you’re a hoops dude.” He shoves the ball into Isak’s chest. “ _Not_ a musical singer person.”

With an irritated huff, Isak tosses the ball right back to Jonas, and promptly grabs a book at random so that he can get the fuck out of there, pronto, except Jonas is very determined not to leave him alone, much to Isak’s disgruntlement, instead matching to his pace.

“Have you ever seen Michael Crawford on a cereal box?” Jonas questions as Isak approaches a table; and this finally garners an actual response from Isak, as he scrunches up his face in confusion.  
“Who the heck is Michael Crawford?”

Jonas slams the basketball down on the table at the same time that Isak carefully puts his book down. “Exactly my _point_!” he hisses, leaning down with his elbow on the basketball. “He was the Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. Now, my mamma has seen that musical _twenty-seven_ times, and put Michael Crawford’s picture in our refrigerator. Yeah,” he says, when he sees Isak’s questioning look, “not on it. _In_ it. So,” Jonas picks up the basketball now and proudly shows it off, “my point is that if you play basketball, you’re going to end up on a cereal box. If you sing is _musicals_ ,” Jonas grimaces, “you’ll end up in my mamma’s refrigerator.”

Isak is very perplexed now. “Why the fuck is your mamma putting pictures in her refrigerator?”

Jonas throws his hands up in the air, his voice getting loud again. “One of her crazy diet ideas! I-I don’t attempt to understand the female mind, Isak. It’s frightening territory.” Once more, Linn’s head appears around a corner to glower at Jonas, who lowers his voice slightly. “How can you expect the rest of us to be focused on a game if you’re off somewhere in leotards singing _Twinkle Town_?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Isak holds his hands up. “No-one said _anything_ about wearing leotards.” But, honestly, if it’s a show run by Eskild, he wouldn’t be surprised if somehow he _did_ end up in a leotard; but hey, if Even winds up in a leotard as well, then Isak doesn’t really see a problem.

“Not yet, my friend, but just you _wait_.” Jonas sharply pokes him in the chest, his voice once more rising, his expression serious. “Look, we need you, Captain. _Big time_.”

“Mr. Vasquez,” Linn sing-songs through gritted teeth.

“I tried to tell him, Linn,” Jonas tells her with rising frustration, holding his hands up in defeat. “ _Really_ tried.”

***

It’s to Emma’s horror that she witnesses Jonas, Mahdi and Magnus marching into the science classroom, made worse when she, upon creeping up to the doorway, spies on them walking right up to where Sana and Eva are sitting together in the corner, being all blushy and giggly, at least until they see the boys towering over them, causing Sana to narrow her eyes and her lip to curl in disdain.

Before she can make a snippy remark, Jonas speaks, his hands clasped together as he twiddles his thumbs. “Hey, look. We need to talk.”

Sana glances at Eva, who looks interested in this turn of events, and she raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Go,” she orders.

In the doorway, Emma narrows her eyes as she observes Jonas and Sana conversing. “Something isn’t right here.” Jonas and Sana _never_ interact. EVER!

At her side, on the opposite side of the doorway, Chris rubs his chin thoughtfully, his eyes too on the duo inside the classroom. “They must be trying to figure out a way to make sure Isak and Even _actually_ beat us out,” he speculates. “Now, the jocks rule most of the school, but if they get Isak into the musical…then they’ve conquered the _entire_ student body.”

Emma nods her approval of his theory. “And if those science girls manage to get Even to…miraculously become Isak’s—” She wrinkles her nose at the first word that pops into her mind. “— _friend_ , then the scholastic club goes from drool to cool.” She can’t help but shudder at the prospect of a world wherein the science club is actually cool, which had once upon a time seemed an improbability but could now become something very, very real. _Yike_. She puts her hand on Chris’s chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “Chris, we need to save our show from people who don’t know the difference between a Tony Award—” She gives a snobbish _harrumph_. “—and Tony Hawk.”

And, well, they couldn’t be further from the truth.

In the meantime, Sana is leaning back in her chair, tapping her pen on the page of her open book as she gazes sceptically at Jonas. “Do you _really_ think that’s going to work?”

Jonas shrugs helplessly. “It’s the only way to save Isak and Even from themselves.” And, well, Sana can’t really argue that point, she realises with a heavy sigh. “So…are we on?”

Sana frowns. She doesn’t like this plan, not one bit, and she can tell by the way that Jonas is shifting his weight that he’s not all too fond of it either, despite being the one that came up with it. With great reluctance, she says, “Yeah.”

Jonas nods once, curtly. “So, we start tomorrow then?”

“The first thing,” Sana confirms with a nod of her own.

_And what a day tomorrow will be._


	7. Once Upon a Time I Was Falling in Love Now I'm Only Falling Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT: This chapter is why Isak is Troy and Even is Gabriella because wow such parallels.  
> This is also hasn't been read over by anyone else so apologies because it's probably not that great.  
> Chapter title is from "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler.  
> Hope you enjoy xx

True to their word, Jonas and Sana meet up, as discussed via Facebook the night before, behind the school first thing in the morning. Or, at least Sana shows up on time; Jonas takes a little bit longer to make an appearance.

Sana paces for the first five minutes of her arrival; after those five, she leans up against the wall; after ten, she starts to drum her fingers on her arms, crossed over her chest; after fifteen, she begins to tap her foot; after twenty, she prepares herself to leave when Jonas finally decides to grace her with his presence.

“So,” Jonas says by way of greeting as he approaches, steamrolling over the reprimand Sana has ready on her tongue, his eyes fixated on the watch he’s got on his wrist which he’s fiddling with, “my watch is 07:45 Central European Time. We synched?”

Sana just stares at him as though he’d grown a second head, her face creased in confusion while she reaches down to hoist up the backpack that’s been laying at her feet this whole time, careful not to jostle its contents, imperative to the operation that is the whole reason they’re meeting to begin with. “Whatever,” she grunts as she stands up again.

“All right,” Jonas cheers, looking up from his watch at last, “then we’re on a go mode for lunch period, exactly 12:05.”

Sana scrunches her face further, raising her eyebrows, the silent message of _what the fuck_ evident in her expression. “Yes, Jonas,” she huffs irritably, “we’re ‘a go.’” She heaves the bag at Jonas, swiftly, unexpectedly, and if not for years of basketball honing his reflexes, the bag’s contents probably would’ve smashed to smithereens. “But we are _not_ Charlie’s Angels.” She flashes him a feigned smile as she pushes herself off the wall with her shoulder, jabbing a finger at him sternly. “Okay?”

“I can _dream_ , can’t I?” Jonas grumbles to himself when Sana reaches out and pats him on the shoulder before walking away, leaving him to stare down at the equipment in the backpack he now clutches to his chest.

He gives a heavy sigh, conflicted, anxious about what is to be done, and then he’s shouldering the backpack and walking into the building, where the hours counting down to 12:05 pass slowly, the day dragging out at a sluggish pace that puts both Sana and Jonas on edge; and when the lunch period finally rolls around, along with it comes dreaded anticipated for the duo as they scurry to be in position on schedule as soon as the bell rings.

***

Isak hurries down the corridor leading from the gym to the locker rooms, his phone gripped tight in his hand as he picks up the pace. He had received a text earlier in the day from Jonas asking to meet in the gym during their lunch break, the one day this week when the team wasn’t scheduled for a practise, to which he had reluctantly agreed. But Jonas hadn’t been in the gym, prompting Isak, after waiting for several minutes, to try and look for him in the locker rooms.

And find him he does.

Only, Jonas isn’t alone, as Isak had been expecting. He is flanked by the entire Narwhal team, all of them surrounding a table that has been put in the middle of the locker room, every inch of it covered in basketball memorabilia; mostly trophies won in championships long since passed and framed photographs of renowned former Narwhal team players.

Isak’s too stupefied by the layout to question what the fuck the purpose of this display is.

In Jonas’s hand is one of said pictures, and he holds it up high, though Isak isn’t close enough to exactly see who it is. “‘Spider’ Bjørn Knutsen, class of ’72. He was the MVP in the league championship game.”

It’s still not clear to Isak why they’re bringing up a guy that was a basketball star forty-five years ago. _Is there a point?_

“Sascha Pettersen, class of ’02,” Mahdi chimes in from the other side of the table and causing Isak to redirect his attention to him in the hopes that maybe Mahdi will shine some light on the subject, “also known as ‘Sascha Slamma Jamma’. Captain, MVP of the league championship team.”

_Nope_.

And then Magnus is joining in, stepping out from behind Mahdi as the other boy sits down, holding up the next photograph, and Isak already knows he isn’t going to get anything from Magnus. “The ‘Thunder Clap—’” Here, the entire team claps for emphasis. “—Thor Henriksen, ’95. He led the Narwhals to back-to-back championships; a legend.”

“Yes, legends; one and all,” Jonas says, Isak once again shifting his focus to him, his face scrunched up in bewilderment, unsure about what exactly is going on, and then Jonas takes a step toward him. “But do you _think_ ,” he demands heatedly, “that _any_ of these Narwhal legends _became_ legends by getting involved in musical auditions just _days_ before the league championships?”

And oh, Isak very nearly rolls his eyes because _of fucking course_ that’s what the cause of all this bullshit is, and he purses his lips, hands gravitating to his hips, eyes staring at the ceiling.

“Get your head in the game!” the Narwhals chorus.

“No!” Jonas exclaims, his volume rising. “These Narwhal legends _became_ legends because they never took their eyes off the prize.” He taps his temple with his index fingers and jerks his head in the direction of the table and the several said prizes laid out on display.

“Get your head in the game!” the Narwhals once again bellow.

“Now—” Jonas raises his arms with a similar flair typically associated with Eskild. “—who was the first sophomore _ever_ to make starting varsity?”

“Isak!” the Narwhals yell, all eleven fingers pointing at said boy, who actually does roll his eyes at this, removing his hands from his hips to cross them across his chest.

“So,” Jonas says with a bitter edge to his voice now, “who voted him our captain this year?”

“Us!” the Narwhals declare, this time jabbing their fingers at themselves.

Jonas folds his arms, matching Isak’s stance as he fixes him with a cool stare. “And who is going to get their sorry butts kicked in Friday’s championship game, if Isak here is worried about an audition?”

There’s a beat, a moment of silence, in which the Narwhals shoot uneasy glances between each other, shifting their weight, rubbing the back of their necks, and there’s a defeated murmur scattered amongst them in response to Jonas question: “We are.’

Isak huffs out an aggravated sigh, pushing himself off the wall he’s been leaning against. “Guys, come on. I mean, there are _twelve_ people on this team.” He gestures vaguely towards his teammates scattered around the room. “I’m not the only one.”

Jonas’s caterpillar eyebrows begin to crawl up his forehead in amazement. “Just _twelve_?” he questions incredulously. “Oh, no; I think you’re forgetting about one _very_ important thirteenth member of our squad.”

He reaches his hand out behind him and one of the boys passes over one of the photographs hiding behind the trophies, and in turn, Jonas holds the frame out to Isak, who steps forward to take it, after careful deliberation, and he turns the frame over, only to find himself staring down at the picture of a young man who he bears a striking resemblance to, and he feels a small pang in his chest. “My dad,” he says quietly.

“Yes, Isak,” Jonas says, crossing his arms again, watching as Isak continues to stare at the picture, biting his lip. “Narwhal basketball champion, class of ’92. Champion, father, and now coach. It’s a winning tradition like no other.”

At the same time, over on the other side of the school, on one of the science labs, Even is in a similar position wherein his team is also hounding him by blabbing on about the history of evolution, which he already _knows_ , thanks, and he leans forward, head propped up by his hand, and tries his damnedest not to zone out.

“From lowly Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon,” Sana is saying, indicating with her pointing stick at the laptop screen in front of Even, “to early warriors, medieval knights—” The screen showcases a visual representation on said evolution as she speaks. “—all leading up to…the lunkhead basketball man.”

At Sana’s side, Eva unravels a poster, and Even sits up a little straighter when he sees that it’s an image of a basketball player with Isak’s head, enlarged and superimposed over the top of it, and can’t help the dopey grin that spreads across his face, which he tries to hide behind his hand.

“Yes,” Sana is saying, her tone harsh and irritable, “our culture worshipped the aggressor throughout the ages, and we end up with spoiled, overpaid bonehead athletes who contribute _little_ to civilization other than slam dunks and touchdowns.” She gestures to the poster again. “ _That_ is the inevitable world of Isak Valtersen.”

Even listens to her rant, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at her, because _actually, Sana, you’re dead fucking wrong about that._

Oblivious to Even’s displeasure, Sana turns back to him, speaking warmly now as she continues. “But the path of the mind; the path that we’re on? _Ours_ is the path that has brought us these people.” She opens up a PowerPoint presentation on her laptop and several articles and photographs of historical figures appear onscreen, and she lists them off as she flicks through the slides. “Eleanor Roosevelt, Frida Kahlo, Sandra Day O’Connor, Madame Curie, Jane Goodall, Oprah Winfrey, and _so_ many others who the world reveres.”

“Look, this is cool and everything,” Even says, doing his best to keep his apathy from bleeding into his voice, making a move to stand up from his stool, “but, uh, I’ve actually got Vilde waiting for me to rehearse, so, I kind of have to go now.”

Then Sana’s viciously slapping the table in front of him with her pointing stick with a loud outburst of, “ _Even_!” which startles the boy into sitting his ass back down on the stool, his eyes wide.

Sana’s face scrunches up in apology but smooths out again in the blink of an eye as she takes the pointing stick off the table and pokes the poster of Isak. “Isak Valtersen represents one side of evolution, and our side?” She proceeds to slap the stick on the periodic table taped to the wall closest to her and the whiteboard behind her. “The side of education and accomplishment is the future of civilization!” With one final _whap_ the stick lands on the table in front of Even once more and the other six members of the team crowd around the table as Sana leans forward. “ _This_ is the side where you belong.”

Even merely stares at her, then around at his other teammates, nonplussed; and all the way back in the locker rooms, Isak observes his own teammates in a similar manner, taking in their previous words, the photo frame still clutched tightly in his hands.

“Guys,” he says slowly, firmly, “if you don’t know that I’ll put _one hundred and ten percent_ of my _guts_ into that game, then you really don’t know me.” Just like Even had pointed out on the rooftop— _they don’t know enough about you_ —but Isak had already known that, in some way, deep down.

“But we just thought—” Jonas begins fiercely, but Isak interrupts, eyes bright with rage.

“I’ll tell you what _I_ thought,” he snaps, stomping the few short steps between him and his teammates to stand in front of the table, slamming down the picture. “I thought that you’re my friends. Win together, lose together, _teammates_.”

Jonas leans on his elbow on the table then, in front of a teammate, and squints at Isak. “But suddenly the guy…and the singing shit.”

“Man, I’m for the _team_!” Isak cries, feeling hot, angry tears prick at his eyes. “I’ve _always_ been for the team! He is just someone I _met_ , all right? The whole singing thing is nothing! Probably just a way to keep my nerves down; you _know_ what my mamma’s like.” Not _entirely_ false; Isak hasn’t had much to do with his mamma since New Year’s, both hurt by her words and guilty about his developing relationship of sorts with Even. “I—I don’t know; it means _nothing_ to me. You’re _my_ guys and this is _our_ team. Even is not important.” There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as soon as those words leave his lips, his heart in his throat, but he swallows and continues on, the fire leaving his voice. “I’ll forget about him. I’ll forget about the audition, and we’ll go out and get that championship.” He exhales a long, breathy sigh, chest heaving with exertion and glares. “Is everyone happy now?”

The Narwhals are absolutely _thrilled_ ; Jonas grins, his plan having gone off without a hitch as the teammate behind him swiftly turns off the webcam that, unknown to Isak, has been filming him during his rant, the footage being transmitted live to Sana’s laptop over in the science classroom, where Even has been listening to everything, his heart breaking with every word.

_Is that how Isak really feels about him?_

He’s frozen, still staring at the laptop screen, stricken, hands clenching the sides of the stool, his knuckles whitening, when the transmission cuts off at the end of Isak’s speech, and he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the room until Sana speaks, breaking the silence.

“Behold,” Sana says mockingly, gesturing to the screen, “lunkhead basketball man.”

Even, holding back tears, averts his eyes from the screen at last, clasping his trembling hands together in his lap as he sucks in a shaky breath, staring down at the floor while the rest of the team exits the room, their work here done, and Eva touches his shoulder comfortingly as she passes.

“So, Even,” Sana announces cheerfully as though nothing had happened, once everyone has cleared the room save for the two of them, “we’d love to have you for the scholastic decathlon.” She bites her lip when he doesn’t respond. “Did you want to come and grab some lunch?”

Even manages a weak smile, wordlessly shaking his head at the offer, and when he glances up at her, his eyes are shiny with unshed tears, and it strikes Sana then if maybe she had gone too far with Jonas’s plan.

“Well, we’ll be there, if you change your mind.”

She’s not the greatest at comfort, so she simply pats Even’s shoulder as she too takes her leave, thinking that it’s probably best to leave him be for now, and then it’s just Even, sitting alone in the classroom, and he leans into his arms, burying his face in his hands.

It’s then that he hears a commotion coming from outside, just making out the muffled screaming through the nearby windows, and curiosity gets the better of Even, who lifts his head out of his hands and stands from his stool to move over to the window, only to find that the reason for the chaos is none other than Isak himself, as he stands in the midst of it all, surrounded by teammates and classmates alike, and Even realises that the screaming he’d heard earlier is really just people chanting Isak’s name.

Even pushes himself away from the window with a bitter sigh, swallowing harshly as he turns away, leaning his back against the counter, unable to even look at Isak when he knows that the boy with the bright eyes, the boy that he thought he knew, is just a fake.

_It’s funny when you find yourself looking from the outside_

_I’m standing here but all I want_

_Is to be over there_

He very nearly turns around again, drawn to the continuous chanting of Isak’s name, just managing to stop himself when he’s turned halfway, but not before he catches another glimpse of Isak, bright and smiling and laughing with his friends in the courtyard below, and his heart aches at the sight, the pickling behind his eyes getting harder to ignore.

_Why did I let myself believe miracles could happen?_

’ _Cause now I have to pretend_

_That I don’t really care_

How could he have been so fucking stupid as to believe that Isak had actually been _genuine_ in his confession? Because he wasn't, he knows that now; and Even _really_ doubts that there was every anything more to Isak than the lunkhead basketball man to begin with. The Isak _he_ had known was all just a facade, and Even had fallen for it. _Hard_.

_I thought you were my fairytale_

_A dream when I'm not sleeping_

_A wish upon a star that's coming true_

He's walking through the hallway now, blessedly devoid of students, probably because they're all too busy fawning over Isak out in the courtyard, where Even yearns to be but can never go, especially not now.

_But everybody else could tell_

_That I confused my feelings with the truth_

_When there was me and you_

For someone who's supposed to be smart, it was a pretty dumb move to fall for a boy who thinks he's worth shit. That's what he gets for being lured in by princely curls, bright eyes, and the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, they could break free from the status quo together, Even supposes.

_I swore I knew the melody that I heard you singing_

_And when you smiled it made me feel_

_Like I could sing along_

Even's hand glides absently across the railing of the second floor, too caught up in his own mind, stuck on his every interaction with Isak—from the spark that he'd felt on New Year's at the lodge, the elation upon finding out that they are at the same school, all the way to the butterflies as they sang together once more, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes; butterflies which grew stronger every time they had been together since—and his heart warms, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips.

_But then you went and changed the words_

_Now my heart is empty_

_I'm only left with used-to-be's and once upon a song_

Only for said smile to disappear as soon as it had come, the words “Even means nothing to me” said with such conviction returning to the forefront of his mind, his heart shattering into a million pieces, and if it hadn't been for the railing clenched tightly in his grip keeping him grounded, Even would have broken down right then and there.

_Now I know you're not a fairytale_

_And dreams were meant for sleeping_

_And wishes on a star just don't come true_

Honestly, he shouldn't even _be_ all that surprised. Someone like Isak just doesn't end up with someone like Even; it's just not meant to be, no matter how much his heart desires it. The real world doesn't work like that, and it's time he faced reality.

_'Cause now even I can tell_

_That I confused my feelings with the truth_

_Because I liked the view_

_When there was me and you_

He makes his descent down the stairs, head hanging low, dejected, though there's a brief moment of respite as he twirls around the bend in the banister, only for his steps to falter when, at the bottom of the stairs, he's confronted by a poster taking up the entirety of the wall depicting the entire Hartvig Nissen Narwhal team, with Isak at the front, which just so happens to be facing the stairs, his bright green eyes seeming to stare right at Even.

_I can't believe that I could be so blind_

_It's like you were floating while I was falling_

_And I didn't mind_

Even cautiously approaches the poster, almost as if afraid that the Isak before him would suddenly become the real Isak, and reaches out a tentative hand for him. The poster doesn't do anything, of course, and Even brings his hand to rest on poster Isak's cheek in a brief caress before yanking his hand away as if burned. Tears that had been pricking at his eyes for a while now begin to fall down Even's cheeks as he turns away from the poster, words that he could never bring himself to say forming one last thought:

_Goodbye Isak_.

' _Cause I liked the view_

_I thought you felt it too_

_When there was me and you_

Even roams the corridor for a few moments after that, his arms wrapped around himself tight, the only thing that's holding him together right now, and as he nears his locker, he collapses against the wall closest to it, leaning his head back against the concrete, closing his eyes in an attempt to at least stem the steady flow of tears.

He remains like that until the bell rings, signalling the end to the lunch period, and then he's pushing himself off the wall, dragging his hands across his face to erase all evidence of tears just as the first wave of bustling students stream into the school and begin to crowd the empty hallways once more.

Even blends in seamlessly with his fellow students as he approaches his locker, slowly jabbing his combination into the lock, the door swinging open just as he sees Isak sidle up beside him in his peripheral vision.

“Hey, how you doing?” he hears Isak ask breathlessly, the cheer in his voice doing nothing to assuage Even's hurt, and he grits his teeth as he continues to rifle through his locker, pretending that Isak's mere presence doesn't effect him in any way whatsoever. _Nope_. “Listen—” And now his silence has already caused Isak to speak decidedly less cheerful. “—there's something I want to talk to you about—”

“And here it is,” Even interjects, turning to face him, his face blank, neutral, a folder clutched to his chest for support. “I know what it's like to carry a load with your friends. I get it. You've got your boys, Isak; it's okay. So we're good.”

And when Even reaches out and lightly punches Isak's shoulder in a similar gesture to what Isak had done on the rooftop, the other boy's face scrunches up in confusion as he glances first down at his shoulder, tingling from the touch, and then up at Even, squinting his eyes. “Good about what? I was going to talk to you about the, uh, final callbacks.”

“I don't want to do the callbacks either,” Even says nonchalantly, and he watches as Isak takes a step back as if in shock. “Who are we trying to kid? You've got your team and now I've got mine. I'll do the scholastic decathlon and you'll win the championships. It's where we belong.” He turns back to his locker, lifting some books out of the way until he finds the papers he's looking for, something that once brought him joy but now wants nothing to do with, and hands them over to Isak. “Go Narwhals.”

Isak accepts the papers from him, swallowing thickly as he sees what it is. _The song for their audition_. This isn't what he meant by wanting to talk about the auditions; not even close. “But I—”

Even closes his locker and gives Isak a halfhearted smile. “Me neither.”

And if he cries softly, briefly, after turning his back to Isak and walking away, from the auditions, from his feelings, from the boy who he hears calling out a desperate “Even?” with his voice breaking, well, no-one really has to know.


	8. These Words are My Heart and Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes! Long time no see!  
> I can't believe it's been a million years since the last update ksdjfksjdf AGAIN--I didn't mean to do that after the last chapter!  
> But, uh, I got caught up writing a different fic that ended up making me realise how much I. Hate. My. Writing.  
> So, yeah. Haven't been v motivated to do much writing ewksjdfjksdjf but HERE I AM WITH CHAPTER 8 HALLELUJAH!   
> (I'm really nervous about this one bc I don't think I did a very good job, particularly with the ending ://)  
> Shoutout to my best bud Mars for reading over this for me--ily <3 <3 <3  
> Chapter title is from "With Me" by Sum 41.   
> HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY xxx

The rest of the afternoon passes in a daze for Isak; hurt and confused, he finds it hard enough to concentrate in his remaining classes that he just…gives up trying, for all his mind can fixate on is the memory of Even, the sorrow that lingered in his blue eyes as he walked away. The image makes his heart ache, only made worse when he remembers how Even had brushed him off, had handed him his copy of their song. Isak has no fucking clue what had happened between yesterday and today, but he can’t shake the sinking feeling that he’s somehow responsible for whatever it is.

He’s still lost in his thoughts when the bell rings, bringing a blessed end to a shitty day, and he sluggishly makes his way to Nissen’s outdoor basketball court, where the Narwhals are in the middle of their practise. His teammates’ obliviousness to the black cloud currently hanging over his head is made apparent when Jonas comes bounding up to Isak, quickly falling into step beside him.

“Hey, captain,” Jonas says a little too cheerily for Isak’s taste, and when he gives no response, Jonas tries to pass his basketball to Isak, who rejects the offer with a wordless shake of his head, opting to run off to do laps of the track instead of joining the rest of the team shooting baskets.

Mahdi comes jogging up to Jonas, who’s watching Isak run off with a frown. “What’s with Isak?”

Jonas turns to Mahdi and his face relaxes, forehead smoothing out. “Don’t worry about it, man,” he says.

He claps Mahdi on the shoulder, but the other boy _can’t_ help but worry about it, because he hasn’t seen Isak act quite so… _off_ before. Neither can Jonas, who spares one last worried look at Isak, before returning to his drills with the rest of the Narwhals.

And then it’s the weekend.

For Isak, it’s spending hours outside in his backyard shooting baskets—or, well, at least _attempting_ them. He’s not doing so well, his mind completely unfocused, resulting in him missing one shot, two shots, and so on, until he’s just. Fucking. _Had it_. The next time that he misses, he catches the missed shot on the full and hurls the ball against the side gate with a frustrated yell, throwing himself down onto the grass in defeat, all while Terje watches helplessly from the porch.

In the meantime, Even throws himself into preparing for the scholastic decathlon. Learning formulas, equations, meticulously writing them out until they’re lodged in his brain. Anything to keep the hostile thoughts— _unimportant, forgettable, worthless, nothing_ , words hissed in a voice sounding all too similar to a certain basketball captain—at bay. It’s only at night, when he’s supposed to be asleep that he can’t fight the thoughts and drowns in hopelessness, so it becomes a habit that weekend to stay up as late as he’s physically able, breaking his schedule and giving Elin a cause for worry.

When Monday rolls around, both boys manage to successfully avoid each other—well, it’s more deliberate on Even’s side than it is on Isak’s, even going so far as making himself purposefully late so that he doesn’t have to face Isak during homeroom—only to bump into each other in the cafeteria. Quite literally, as Isak isn’t paying as much attention to where he’s going as he should be and thus runs right into Even, whose hands automatically reach out to steady the person who’d just walked into him and stopping him from falling flat on his ass in the middle of the cafeteria.

“ _Shit_!” Isak blurts out. “I’m _so_ sor—”

Green meets blue and the words die on Isak’s tongue and it’s almost instantaneous how upon hearing his voice Even is letting go of Isak as if merely touching him _burned_ ; although he springs away, Even makes no move to remove himself from the scene, and Isak swallows thickly as he musters up the nerve to speak.

“Hi.” It’s a quiet, breathless syllable.

“Hi.” Even’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet also, strained as though uncomfortable with the situation, and his grip on his bag he has slung over his shoulder tightens, his knuckles turning white.

It’s in the awkward silence that follows that their encounter, while insignificant to most of the student body, catches the attention of their respective teammates, starting from the far side of the cafeteria where the scholastic decathlon team sits as Mikael nudges Sana’s attention away from Eva and jerks his chin toward the middle of the cafeteria where Isak and Even are standing.

She turns her head, following Mikael’s line of sight just as Isak starts to speak again, just able to get out an “Um” before Even is saying over him, “I-I have to go” and shouldering past Isak with a little too much force that causes him to stumble backwards. Sana raises an arm to wave Even over to her table, but he pointedly ignores her, lowering his head and sitting himself at a table at random, slumping over in his seat and burying his face in his hands.

And Isak, having regained his footing, stares after Even with hurt in his eyes and a lump in his throat. He tears his gaze away momentarily when across the cafeteria Jonas calls out his name, waves him over, but Isak just shakes his head, silently refusing the offer, his eyes lingering on Even one last time before he’s turning on his heels and marching out of the cafeteria altogether. As he passes the bins, he tosses away his lunch, feeling too sick to even _think_ about eating.

It’s as he’s walking out that Even turns around, finally looking up to stare wistfully at Isak’s retreating back.

Sana and Jonas watch from their separate tables with a growing feeling of guilt gnawing away at their insides and, in a moment of unconscious synchrony, both stand from their seats, turn towards the other’s table. Their gazes meet and, in that moment, they come to a silent agreement that maybe, _just maybe_ , they’d fucked up more than they bargained for.

***

Isak is on the school rooftop when Jonas, Mahdi and Magnus find him. He’s sprawled out across the bench where just four days ago he’d been sitting with Even and talking about whether or not to go through with the auditions. Except, now he’s alone, without an Even, and a lump in his throat.

“Hey.”

Jonas’s voice and the sound of footsteps brings him back to reality, and Isak takes off his snapback, which he’d placed over his face, to look up at his best friend listlessly.

“Um…we just had another team meeting.” Jonas meets Isak’s gaze, his face contorted with regret.

“Oh.” Isak scoffs, moves his snapback to cover up his face once more. “ _Wonderful_.”

“We had a team meeting about how we haven’t been acting like a team,” Jonas tries again, looking back at Mahdi and Magnus for support, who nod encouragingly at him. “I mean _us_ —” Jonas gestures to himself and the other two boys, despite the fact that Isak can’t even see them. “—not you. Look, man, about the singing thing—”

Isak waves his hand about in Jonas’s general direction to get him to _shut up shut up shut up._ “Look, dude, I don’t want to _fucking_ talk about it.” His voice is muffled underneath his snapback.

Jonas ignores Isak completely and continues. “We just want you to know that we’re gonna be there, okay? _Cheering_ for you.”

Well, _that_ gets Isak’s attention. His teammates suddenly want to show their moral support for his non-existent music career? Even _Jonas_ , who acted like him wanting to sing was going to bring about the end of the world because God forbid he be interested in _anything_ other than basketball. _What the actual fuck?_ It’s enough to make Isak pull off his snapback again.

“ _Huh_?”

“Yeah.” This time it’s Mahdi who speaks up and Isak turns his gaze to him. “If singing is something you want to do, we should be boosting you up, not tearing you down.” Next to him, Magnus is nodding eagerly, a stupidly huge grin on his face.

“Win or lose, we’re teammates. That’s what we’re about.” Jonas closes the gap between him and the bench in three quick strides and reaches over to punch Isak’s shoulder. “Even if you turn out to be the _worst_ singer in the world.” 

“Which we don’t _know_ because we’ve never actually _heard_ you sing,” Magnus points out with a chortle.

“And you’re not gonna hear me sing, guys,” Isak says heatedly, and Magnus pouts because _dammit_ he’d been looking forward to that! “Because Even won’t even talk to me.” Isak swallows and continues in a softer voice no louder than a whisper. “And I don’t know why.”

Jonas bites his lip, hating to see Isak upset, glances over his shoulder at Mahdi and Magnus, who pointedly don’t meet his gaze, feeling shameful. _It’s now or never._

“We do.”

Isak’s brows furrow, his eyes squinting at his best friend, as he finally hoists himself upright into a sitting position on the bench. Mahdi takes his backpack off his shoulders and unzips it, rummaging through its contents as he approaches Isak.

“I baked these fresh today,” Mahdi says, finally producing a Ziploc bag of sugar cookies that he holds out toward Isak, who accepts the cookies wearily. “You, um, might want to try one before we tell you the rest.” It’s almost robotic how Isak does as requested, opening the bag and taking out a cookie.

And then Jonas comes clean.

***

Even’s working in one of the science labs, writing up equations on the whiteboard, when Sana finds him later that afternoon after school. When she makes her appearance with Mikael and Eva in tow, Even doesn’t have time to utter a single word before Sana’s speaking, blurting out in a rush.

“Even, we were jerks. No—we were _worse_ than jerks because we were mean jerks. We thought that Isak and the whole singing thing was killing our chances of having you on the scholastic decathlon team.”

“I heard what he had to say. I’m on your team now.” Even’s voice is dull, monotonous, and he shrugs one shoulder as if to say _whatever_. “Done.”

“No, not done!” Sana reaches out and smacks her hand down on the text book with enough force that Even recoils from her with wide eyes, startled. “We…knew that Jonas could get Isak to say things to make you want to forget about the callbacks.” She casts a glance back at Mikael and Eva, worrying her lip between her teeth. “We planned it, and we’re embarrassed and sorry.”

“No one _forced_ Isak to say anything.” Why Even feels a defensive spark flare up in him, he has no fucking clue, because Isak doesn’t deserve it, not after what he did, and Even makes _damn_ sure Sana knows that with his next words. “And you know what? It’s okay. We should be preparing for the decathlon now, so it’s time to move on.” _God_ , that sounds so rehearsed, even to his ears.

Sana just about growls at his response, growing ever so frustrated with his stupid boy stubbornness. “No, it’s not _okay_!” she snaps. “The decathlon is _whatever_ , but how you feel about us—” She points to herself and then jabs a thumb in the direction of Mikael and Eva, who are still hanging back in the doorway as silent moral supporters as Sana speaks on their behalf. “—and, even more important, _Isak_ …that’s what really matters.”

For several beats, Even stares at Sana, unblinking, unmoving, and for a moment she thinks she’s gotten to him, but then he breaks eye contact, his jaw set firm as his attention returns once more to the textbook, and continues working on the equation he’d been writing before being interrupted.

Sana stares at his back disbelievingly for all of five seconds before throwing her hands up in defeat and stomping back over to Mikael and Eva. “Well, I _tried_ ,” she grumbles at them, but she doesn’t stop there, next to them, instead continues out the door and into the hallway, irritation rolling off her in waves.

***

After Jonas had admitted what he and the rest of the team had done—concocted a plot with _Sana of all people_ to put he and Even off wanting to do the callbacks—Isak had been pissed. When Jonas was done talking, all Isak could do was stare at him in wordless fury, because if he had opened his mouth, _who knows_ what he would’ve said out of the plethora of curses he had on the tip of his tongue.

He’d also felt hurt, because the boys on the basketball team were _supposed to be_ his friends—Jonas, Mahdi and Magnus most definitely were—and they all decided it was chill to go behind his back and sabotage his relationship because, what? It was getting in the way of the fucking _championships_? Well, it’s going to take a lot more than suddenly supporting Isak’s musical endeavour to get him to trust the boys again.

So, without a word, Isak had stood up from the bench and left his so-called ‘friends’ behind on the rooftop while he went back inside. He’d ended up ditching the rest of the day because yeah, there was no fucking way he’d be able to concentrate on _anything_ after that, and holed himself up in his bedroom once he got home, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking and thinking.

Knowing what he does now, it makes sense for why Even has been avoiding him like the plague. After what he’d said last Friday in the locker room, he’d kind of deserved it.

That was when he’d jolted up in bed because _shitshitshit_ what he’d said in the locker room.

“ _Even is not important. I’ll forget about him. I’ll forget about the auditions, and we’ll go out and get that championship. Is everyone happy now?_ ”

_No_. Because Isak had only said that to get his teammates off his back—he hadn’t mean it.

_Even wouldn’t know that_.

Isak was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea because just the idea that Even thinks he means nothing to him _hurts_ , because that isn’t true, not by a long shot. He means _so much_ to Isak—which sounds silly because they’ve only known each other for what? A week?—but he can’t help himself.

He has to apologise. He _needs_ to apologise.

But first, there’s something he needs to do.  

Ever since that night at the ski lodge, on New Year’s Eve, there’s been… _something_ between he and Even. He’s had Even’s number saved in his phone since Even had written it on his arm after they were interrupted by Terje on the balcony. He’d actually had every intention of contacting Even, but then his mamma had her outburst that had made him want to hide from his feelings, lock them away, ignore them. And then Even waltzed into Eskild’s classroom and slowly Isak has been gaining his confidence back.

He has to tell his mamma the truth.

Which brings Isak to the present, pacing outside his parents’ bedroom door. He’s been at it for a while, what with it still being light outside when he started and now it’s dark. (It’s taking him a while to work up the courage to say what he wants to, okay? He’s never actually…admitted this out loud before. Like… how does he even start? Does he just blurt it out, straight up? “ _I’m gay!_ ” Or is he supposed to be a little more subtle? “ _I like boys_!” Who knows? Not him!)

“Isak? Sweetie, what are you doing out here?”

Isak comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of his pacing, his head snapping up upon hearing Marianne’s soft voice. Apparently, he’s been so lost in thought that he didn’t notice his mamma opening the door and poking her head out.

“Um…” Well. Looks like he’s going to have to figure out what to say on the spot. _Fuck_. “I wanted to talk to you about…something.”

Marianne blinks, surprised, and for good reason. Her outburst had caused a rift to form between the two of them, with Isak being unable to remain in her presence for two minutes without feeling shameful, so of course to have him seek her out would be quite a shock. But then she smiles softly and opens the door wider to let him in. “Of course.”

Isak takes a deep breath to calm his nerves before he steps into the room and Marianne closes the door behind him. She clasps her hands together as she turns to face Isak, frowning when she gets a better look at him. “Are you…going out tonight?”

Isak glances down at himself and then remembers that oh yeah, he’s wearing a jacket, since after this conversation he’s planning on seeing Even and putting things right. “Oh, um. Yeah. I’m going to go and meet…someone.”

“Jonas?” Marianne guesses.

“No, Mamma, it’s someone else. Someone that I…like,” he finishes hesitantly, wrapping his arms around himself, eyes focused on the floor.

“Oh.” Marianne nods and takes a breath. “And about this…person you like—”

“It’s a boy!” And just like that, it’s out in the open. The silence in the room is deafening after his outburst and Isak cannot bring himself to lift his gaze from the floor. Marianne doesn’t speak but he feels the intensity of her gaze boring into his skin, his soul, and his lip trembles. “I like a boy,” he says again, quieter. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his mamma take a hesitant step toward him. “And I—I know you believe in God and that i-it says in the Bible that it’s a sin, but Mamma, y-you don’t have to be afraid of me just because I’m _gay_.” Tears sting behind his eyes. “I’m sorry if you are sad that I’ve failed you as a son—”

“Isak.” He feels Marianne’s warm hand stroke his cheek, brushing away a tear before she grips his chin firmly, tilting his head and forcing him to meet her eyes. Eyes that are the same green as his, warm and kind behind a thin veil of unshed tears, much unlike the crazed, bloodshot eyes from her episode he’d been expecting. “My son. From the first moment I saw you on June 21st, 1999, at 21:21, I have loved you, and I will _always_ love you, forever.” She lets out a sniffle, two tears falling down her cheeks as she wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. “I’m not sad, and you have _not_ failed me as a son. I’m sorry that I ever gave you a reason to believe so.”

It takes all of five seconds for it to sink in—that Marianne isn’t disgusted, isn’t ashamed to have him for a son—and then Isak’s letting out his own sob as he hugs his mamma back just as tightly, a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. 

***

It’s sometime around 21:00 when Isak is finally turning down the street that Bech Næsheims live on, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. As he nears the house, his footsteps slow down, feeling the confidence from unburdening himself to Marianne begin to ebb away the closer he gets because _shit, fuck, maybe he’s not ready to do this after all._ He’s already used up his quota for epic life-changing speeches for the day.

But he can’t psych himself out _now_. He’s fucking walked all this way for Even, to apologise, and that’s what he’s gonna do, goddammit. So, he takes a minute on the sidewalk to compose himself, takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, and then he’s forcing himself to walk up the path, up the steps, toward the front door.

Isak knocks, and then takes a step away from the door, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet as he waits (hopes) for the door to open. In the span of ten seconds that it takes, Isak starts going over what he’s going to say, only getting as far as _hi_ before the door is opening and Even’s mamma is standing in the doorway, looking slightly confused as to why there’s a boy mumbling to himself on her front porch.

Isak meets her gaze with a stricken, deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. “Hi!” he blurts out, putting his one word of speech to good use. “Uh, Ms. Bech Næsheim, I’m Isak Valtersen.”

“Oh, _Isak_!” Realisation dawns on Elin’s face, and when she hears soft footsteps behind her, she casts a quick glance over her shoulder to find Even standing on the staircase, eyes wide, imploring as he mouths a vehement _no!_ She gives him a small nod and then she’s turning to face Isak, face scrunched up apologetically. “Um, Even is kinda busy with the homework and such, so now’s not really a _great_ time—”

“I made a mistake, Ms. Bech Næsheim,” Isak interjects before Elin can give him another poor excuse, “and…I would _really_ like to let Even know that.” He takes a breath, his voice suddenly quiet, timid. “Could you tell him that I came by to see him?”

A soft smile tugs at the corner of Elin’s lips as she fondly observes the boy in front of her. “I will…Isak. Good night.”

“Good night and, uh, thank you.” Before Isak can stop himself, he’s doing finger guns at Elin and then a split second later is turning around and sprinting for the sidewalk because _ohmygod why did he just do that ohmygod_?

It takes a few moments for him to recover from his embarrassment, but when he does, he turns back to face the house, narrowing his eyes in thought. Okay, so. That was a fucking bust. Even must _really_ not want to see him if his mamma told him Even was too busy with homework because _really_? That’s the lamest excuse he’s ever heard (but who is he to judge? He’s used that excuse countless times himself to get out of stuff too!).

And Isak isn’t so easily dissuaded. He’s desperate, knows that he _needs_ to talk to Even _now_ and make it _damn_ clear that what he said wasn’t the truth at all, not even close to how he actually feels, and he can’t keep bottling it up anymore. He has to find a way to talk to Even, not wait around for the next awkward moment in the cafeteria.

So Isak takes a deep breath, checks for any sign of Even’s mamma through the windows, and when he figures the coast is clear, he begins to tiptoe through the yard and around to the back. There’s a small gate leading to behind the house which Isak carefully opens and, once he’s through, slowly closes it behind himself, locking it. As he walks along the side of the house, he digs his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through his contact list until he comes to Even’s number. He presses it and brings the phone to his ear. _Please pick up, please please pick up._

Even is curled up on his bed, a book in hand, when his phone starts ringing from his bedside table. He sits up slowly, frowning, as he glances at the clock also on the table, because who the _fuck_ would be calling him at 21:21 on a Monday? He reaches for his phone and—

Oh. _Isak_. That’s who.

For a brief moment, Even’s tempted to let the call go to voicemail. But once he’s staring at Isak’s contact picture taking up the screen—he’s in the middle of dramatically singing into his fist, a photo taken during one of the few times that they had actually rehearsed together—his heart pinches, remembering how fond he’d felt at the time of the picture, and he’s hit with the same wave of longing as when he watched Isak walk out of the cafeteria earlier that day.

So, it’s a snap decision when Even answers the call with a quiet, “Hello?”, still unsure, hesitant, about talking to him.

“ _What you heard the other day, none of that is true_ ,” Isak is saying in a rush, sounding out of breath. “ _I was sick of my friends pestering me about singing with you, so I said things I knew would shut them up. I didn’t mean any of it._ ”

Even feels a glimmer of hope at his words, his heart skipping a beat, but he quickly quells the feeling. He reaches out to turn on his nightstand lamp as he replies. “You sounded pretty convincing to me.”

From where he stands outside, Isak watches as the room at the back of the house with a balcony suddenly lights up, and guesses that that is Even’s room. From what he can see, the only way he can possibly get up there is by climbing the tree right by the balcony.

Alright. He can _so_ do this.

“Listen,” Isak says, marching toward the tree, “the guy you met on vacation is _way_ more me than the guy who said those stupid things.”

By now, Even’s got off his bed and is now pacing around his room. “Isak, the whole singing thing is making the school…whack. You said so yourself— _everyone’s_ treating you differently because of it.”

Isak’s reached the bottom of the tree and stares up at it, wondering how the fuck he’s gonna climb it. Hmm. “Maybe because I don’t wanna only be the Basketball Guy. They can’t handle it. That’s not my problem; it’s theirs.”

“And…what about your papa?” Even asks, falling back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“ _And it’s not about my dad. This is about how I feel, and I’m not letting the team down. They let me down. So, I’m gonna sing. What about you_?”

Even heaves a heavy sigh. “I…I don’t know, Isak.”

“ _Well, I kinda need you to say yes, because I brought you something._ ”

Okay, now he’s confused as fuck, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“ _Turn around_.”

Phone still pressed to his ear, Even rolls onto his other side and nearly falls off his bed when he sees that Isak is standing _right fucking there_ , on his balcony, holy shit. He lets out a noise of disbelief as he hauls himself up into a sitting position, finally taking the phone away from his ear and hangs up, watching as Isak does the same when he stands from his bed and approaches the door to open it.

Even’s not quite sure what he was expecting when he opens the door, but he sure as _hell_ wasn’t expecting Isak to start singing.

_This could be the start of something new_

_It feels so right to be here with you_

_Oh_

Isak’s voice wavers as his brain suddenly catches up to what he’s doing, and there’s a brief moment where he’s panicking on the inside, but then there’s a soft smile on Even’s lips, a soft blush on his cheeks, that gives him the power to push through his fear.

_And now looking in your eyes_

_I feel in my heart_

_The start of something—_

“New,” Isak finishes lamely after a pause.

Now there are actually _tears_ in Even’s eyes, and he quickly rubs a hand over his eyes to brush away the tears. _This boy ohmygod._

Then Isak’s fishing something out of his jacket pocket, pulls out a piece of crumpled paper which he unfolds to reveal as Even’s copy of their duet. He clears his throat. “I-It’s a pair’s audition,” he says, and he holds it out for Even to take.

Even swallows, holding onto the door for dear life, his gaze going from the sheet music in Isak’s hand, to the boy’s face and meeting his earnest gaze, to returning to the music. There’s something he needs to say, before he can say yes.

So he takes a hesitant step forward, arms wrapping around himself to hold himself together. “Isak?”

“Yeah?” he says slowly, hesitantly.

“I-If you’re serious about doing this— _together_ —then there’s something you should know.” Even swallows, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. “About me.”

Isak takes a step toward him, reaches out to take Even’s chin in his hand and raise his head to meet his gaze. “What is it?”

“I—” The words die on Even’s tongue and he tries to look at anything that isn’t Isak.

“Even.” Isak’s voice is soft, encouraging. “You can tell me.”

“I’m bipolar,” he blurts out.

_And there it is._


	9. There's No One Else I'd Rather do this With

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes--look at this! An update! And it hasn't been a zillion years!  
> (The next chapter might take a lil bit longer to write because we're back to SONGS and all of a sudden I have a lot of uni work that I need to have as my first priority, but hopefully it won't be too long a wait)  
> Shoutout to my two favourite gals, Mack and Mars--y'all requested cuddles and a 5 Fine Frøkner scene, so I hope you enjoy your 4k of Evak fluff <3 <3 <3  
> Chapter title is, of course, from "5 Fine Frøkner" by Gabrielle.  
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE EVAK FLUFFINESS WITH A SIDE OF PLOT xx

“ _Oh_.” Isak sucks in a sharp breath of surprise.

Even? Bipolar? That…that’s something he sure as hell didn’t see coming. Not that it would have been _easy_ to identify to begin with—while he’s definitely no expert on the subject of mental illnesses, he knows enough to understand that there aren’t really any glaringly obvious signs indicating someone has this sort of thing.

Well, in most cases. With his mamma, however, it’s a little different. Although she doesn’t have an official diagnosis, she does have some indicators that there is…well, something going on. Like having infrequent episode where she’s screaming verses from the Bible, calling him an ‘abomination’, and then returning to her usual self.

Even isn’t like that at all, yet he does have an official diagnosis, and Isak’s once more made aware that, while it may feel like longer, he’s only known Even for just a week. _A week_. There’s _so much_ that he doesn’t know about this beautiful boy before him that he wants to learn, and that he’s _trusting_ Isak with something so personal so soon is… _whoa_.

He doesn’t realise that his only reaction has been to say “ _oh_ ” until he feels Even moving away from him as he says, “If you don’t want to sing anymore now, I get it. No-one would want to pair up with the fuck-up.” He leans against the railing of the balcony, face turned away from Isak.

Isak bites his lip, slowly makes his way over to the railing, where he stands at Even’s side, their arms barely brushing as Isak braces himself on the railing too. Both boys are quiet for several long moments, with Even staring off into the distance and Isak simply staring at the other boy, taking this moment to truly admire this boy.

Clearing his throat, turning his gaze away, Isak speaks quietly, breaking the silence.

“You’re not a fuck-up.”

Even gives a light scoff. “How would you know?” In the pause that follows, Isak can see him turn his head out of his peripheral vision, feels his gaze boring into his skin, his soul. “You don’t really...” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “… _know_ me.” And then he’s turning away again, as if to signify that it’s the end of this conversation.

But Isak won’t accept that, so he reaches across the railing to put his hand on top of Even’s. the boy looks up, and it’s with wide eyes, breath caught in his throat, that he meets Isak’s gaze for the first time since divulging that he’s bipolar.

And when Isak softly suggests, “Then why don’t we change that?” it’s an offer Even can’t refuse.

***

It starts off with the simplest, most mundane questions, and both boys are situated on the floor of the balcony, sitting cross-legged across from each other. Even had briefly returned to his room and when he’d come back outside, it was to Isak’s delight it was with a joint in hand, which they now pass between them.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Even taps his chin thoughtfully, staring at Isak intensely for several long moments as he takes a drag of the joint. Exhaling the smoke, he replies, “Green. Yours?”

Isak feels a slight flush overtake his cheeks as he averts his gaze. “Blue,” he admits sheepishly.

Even grins and Isak doesn’t think he’s seen anything quite so beautiful.

-

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

Isak takes the joint when Even holds it out for him and takes a drag. “Nineties hip-hop, mostly. I’m quite a big N.W.A fan.”

Even snickers. “ _That’s_ what gets you going before school? _Wow_.”

“It’s what you listen to when you wanna walk around feeling tough,” Isak replies with an indignant huff.

“Have you listened to anything by Nas, then?”

“Nas?” Isak repeats, a little uncertain about the pronunciation of the unfamiliar name.

“Are you _kidding_?” Even plucks the joint from Isak’s slackened grip, the boy too busy staring with wide incredulous eyes and furrowed brows in an attempt to act like he damn well _knows_ what this Nas is, and takes a drag. “You haven’t checked that out?”

“ _No_! I’ve listened to it. Nas. Naaas?” Isak frowns to himself. That doesn’t sound _quite_ right, and obviously it’s wrong because Even’s grinning, his lips pursed together to make it not so obvious, but he’s doing a pretty piss poor job of that.

“Nas? Have you ever listened to it?”

“I _have_ listened to them!” Isak exclaims huffily, reaching over and snagging the joint from Even, who’s now full-on laughing, body shaking, eyes brighter than they’ve been all day.

“It doesn’t sound like you have listened to _him_.”

Isak flounders for words, feeling so incredibly embarrassed at being caught out. “Dammit, I _have_ listened to him,” he grumbles with the petulance of a child.

“We’ll listen to _him_ later,” Even assures him, reaching over and gently punching his shoulder.

-

At some point around midnight, the joint long since run out, they’ve migrated from the balcony into Even’s room, ending up on top of his bedcovers in a tangle of limbs. Isak’s head is resting on Even’s chest and Even is running his fingers through Isak’s curls, who is practically purring at the touch as he does his best to listen to Even speak.

“I actually think life is like a movie,” he’s saying, and Isak’s not quite sure how they came upon this topic. “That you can be the director of your own life. Do you understand what I mean?”

Isak shifts his head on Even’s chest to look the boy in the eyes, nods once. “I do. I don’t fully agree, though.”

Even raises an eyebrow at him. “You don’t?”

“Nah. What’s interesting is the infinity.”

Even blinks, brows now furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“All the parallel universes, and how big everything is,” Isak begins to explain with an enthusiasm Even sure as hell wasn’t expecting from a so-called lunkhead basketball man. “That we’re so insignificant to all the infinite parallel universes out there. _Everything_ that can happen _is_ going to happen, or not just _going_ to, it _is_ happening right now!” He shuffles his body closer to Even’s, his voice going quiet, thoughtful. “There’s probably a parallel universe where an Isak and Even are laying exactly like this except…” He scrunches his face up in thought. “Except the curtains are a different colour, or something.”

Even shifts his head to look at the curtains over the top of Isak’s head. “So…” he drawls. “Yellow curtains, then?”

“Yeah.”

Even returns his gaze to Isak, and he’s quiet for several beats as he observes the boy, somewhat stupefied that such a concept fascinates a boy like Isak, whose life is supposed to revolve around basketball. Then his lips curl into a smirk and he pats Isak’s head. “Okay, that’s enough weed for you.”

Isak rolls his eyes and slaps Even’s hand away. “You never thought about that?”  

“Well, yes, but it makes me feel like,” Even sighs, and gestures vaguely with his hand as he attempts to find the right words, “I don’t know, _lonely_ —”

“It’s incredibly fascinating!” Isak exclaims.

“No, I don’t like it.”

The hand of the arm Even has draped around Isak’s shoulders, holding him close, starts to absently trace shapes on Isak’s bare arm, as he had discarded his jacket around the same time that they wound up on the bed, and Isak sighs, content, closing his eyes. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. It freaks me out.”

“How does that freak you out?”

Even licks his lips, thinks of a way to explain this properly. “Not freaked out the way a horror movie makes you,” he says slowly, “more of a…‘feeling lonely and freaking out’ way. It’s like…it’s your head. Just you and your head…and all of your thoughts.”

Isak opens his eyes, tilts his head back to stare quizzically up at Even. “Alone in your head?” he echoes. “What do you mean?”

“Sort of a ‘the brain is alone’ feeling.”

Isak gives an awkward chuckle. “A _what_ kind of feeling? The brain is alone?”

“Because there is just you and your thoughts, right? You can’t escape your own thoughts!” There’s a pause and Even shifts, moving to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “The only way is by dying.”

Isak’s startled by how casually Even tells him this, and he stares up at the boy in stunned silence for several long moments. Then he drapes his arm across Even’s waist and hugs him close. “That’s dark,” he murmurs. He doesn’t like that that’s how Even feels.

Even moves his head to glance down at Isak. “Yeah,” he admits quietly, “but haven’t you ever had that thought?”

“No,” Isak replies, voice just as soft.

He curls up closer to Even, further into his embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck.

***

They must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing Isak knows, he’s being forced into wakefulness by the early morning sun shining directly onto his face. But he’s not ready to wake up just yet, _thank you very much_ , so with a petulant groan, he pulls the duvet over his head and rolls over onto his other side.

Only for his eyes to immediately snap open when he rolls into what feels like an immovable wall, and it’s then that he remembers with a jolt that he’s not alone in the bed. Slowly, cautiously, he peels the duvet away from his face, and is met with two brilliant blue eyes already staring at him, Even’s lips quirked into a lazy half-smile of amusement.

“Hi,” Even says, his voice deep and rough with sleep doing funny things to Isak’s insides.

Isak smiles into the pillow, eyes closing as a rosy tinted blush appears on his cheeks, “Hi,” he breathes, his insides swirling as Even chuckles beside him, one of his hands straying to card his fingers through Isak’s tousled curls and Isak gives a happy little sigh. “Have you been watching me sleep?”

Even grins. “Just for a few minutes.”

Isak opens his eyes, green meeting blue. “That’s kind of creepy.” Even scoffs as Isak laughs, his stomach swirling with unfamiliar feelings.

“You’re cute when you sleep—” Even testifies but Isak snorts.

“That sounds even _more_ creepy, Even!”

“It’s not creepy,” Even insists, “it’s _romantic_!”

Isak’s breath hitches and Even’s hand stills in his hair, his eyes widening, a faint flush blossoming on his cheeks but he’s resolute in holding Isak’s gaze. This wasn’t a subject that had come up last night—about what this thing between them is, if it’s simply platonic or if there’s something more lingering beneath the surface. It’s not really something Isak has put a lot of thought into—or, rather, wouldn’t _let_ himself do so. That there’s even the slightest chance that Even maybe _possibly_ likes him as something more is a notion that excites Isak, but also scares the fucking shit out of him.

It’s at that moment that there’s a sharp knock on Even’s bedroom door, followed by Elin’s voice asking, “Evi, sweetie, are you awake?”

Isak gasps, lips curving up into a shit-eating grin. “ _Evi_?” he mouths, trying to hold back a laugh.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Even mouths back, his flush darkening, and then he’s turning his head away, raising his voice to yell back, “Yes, Mamma, I’m awake.”

“Cool beans. I’m leaving in fifteen, so if you want a lift, you need to hurry up, alright?”

“Um…I think I’ll catch the tram today, Mamma.”

There’s a pause. “Okay, Evi. Well, I guess I’ll see you later then. Have a good day, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, Mamma.”

“Love you too, Evi.”

When her footsteps move away from the door, Even turns back onto his side to see that smirk still intact on Isak’s face, a wicked glint in his green eyes.

“I can’t believe your mamma calls you Evi,” he says with a cackle. “Oh my God, that is _so cute_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Even grumbles as he picks up his pillow, holding it tightly down over his face to hide his embarrassment.

“Aw, Evi,” Isak coos, trying to coax Even out from underneath the pillow by attempting to yank it out of his grip, “come on, don’t be shy.”

“ _Stop it_!” Even whines, his voice muffled by the pillow.

But Isak isn’t one to give up so easy, so while he and Even engage in a tug-of-war over the pillow, he takes to chanting in the midst of giggling, “EviEviEviEviEviEvi!”

“This is bullying!” Even exclaims, holding onto his pillow for dear life, but he’s laughing too, his eyes crinkling, so Isak figures that _surely,_ he doesn’t mind _too_ much.

At least, that’s until Isak suddenly finds himself flat on his back, and he’s not quite sure how the heck that happened because it happened _way_ too quick, nor is he able to give it much thought, as Even is straddling his hips, his fingers sneaking up underneath Isak’s shirt, starting to relentlessly tickle his sides. In no time at all, he has Isak reduced to nothing more than a mere writhing, giggling mess beneath him, slapping at his arms to get him to stop, but to no avail.

“Oh my God, _stop_!” Isak gasps out in between fits of laughter.

“Not until you _promise_ not to call me Evi again,” Even bargains.

“Okay, okay!” Isak wheezes. “I won't!” He's finally able to breathe properly when Even stops tickling him, his heart hammering away in his chest, and while he lays there on his back, breathless, staring up at Even, he can’t resist saying one last time: “ _Evi_.”

Even lets out an indignant squawk and this time, instead of attacking Isak’s sides, he tickles his neck, which, oh dear _God_ , Isak thinks is _so much worse_ than having his sides tickled. He attempts to dislodge Even by bucking his hips, tries pulling on his arm to get his hand the _fuck away_ from his neck, but _apparently_ Even is really hard to dissuade once he’s got his mind set to something.

“Okay, okay!” Isak screeches. “You win! Just— _please_ , stop!”

Even does as requested, sitting back on his haunches with a self-satisfied smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

As Isak lays back on the bed with Even straddling his hips, he notices the change in the atmosphere. It's quiet, but not awkward. Everything seems so close, and Isak just takes it all in—Even, with his tousled hair, his rosy cheeks, his smile, his eyes—and Isak tries his best to control his breathing, his sides burning and neck tingling as he watches Even lick his lips in thought.   
  
“What are we doing?” Isak asks, breathless, and Even chuckles.  
  
“Having fun,” Even replies and Isak lets out a shaky laugh as Even balances himself with his hands on Isak's hips and Isak's skin feels like it's on fire through the fabric of his shirt. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, willing his heart that’s beating so fast it feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest to calm the fuck down.

“Hey.” He feels Even’s hand caress his cheek, leaving his skin tingling with every brush of Even’s fingers, and Isak finds that the touch makes him feel…calm, quiets his racing thoughts. He opens his eyes slowly and Even’s face is inches away, much closer than before, a soft fondness in his eyes. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.” He moves away then, putting space between them, and glances at the clock on his bedside table. “We, uh, should probably get ready for school now, anyway.”

“Right,” Isak replies, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Even clambers off him, leaving Isak feeling oddly bare without the other boy so…close. It’s a weird feeling that has him shaking his head momentarily to clear it while Even’s back is turned. When the other boy faces him again, it’s with a hand outstretched to help him off the bed, and Isak takes it.

***

After changing into something that they hadn’t slept in—resulting in Even lending Isak some clothes to wear that are just a little bit too big on him—they end up downstairs in the kitchen, once Even’s checked that the coast is clear and Elin has indeed left for work already. Isak is sitting on the counter, having hoisted himself up there so that he’s not getting in the way because Even is making scrambled eggs and, well, Isak is pretty fucking useless in the kitchen. The silence between them is comfortable; the only sound in the kitchen being the music playing over the speakers in the corner that Even had plugged his phone into.

At some point, Even grabs sour cream out of the fridge and adds a generous spoonful of it to the eggs, prompting Isak to break the silence with an incredulous, “You put _that_ in scrambled eggs?”

“Uh, yeah,” Even says as he mixes in the sour cream. “That’s the secret to making _really_ good eggs.”

“…Okay,” Isak says dubiously after a beat.

Even scoffs. “Don’t believe me? Here.” He scoops some of the eggs up with the spatula and holds his free hand underneath to make sure none of the egg falls off and makes a mess as he makes his way over to Isak. “Taste this.”

Isak eyes the eggs suspiciously, his eyes narrowed, but nevertheless does as requested, leaning forward and eating the eggs Even feeds him off the spatula. His expression turns thoughtful as he chews and Even props his hand on his hip as he watches, brows raised expectantly.

“Well?”

“It’s not bad,” Isak admits, swallowing.

Even smirks. “Told you,” he sing-songs. “Bech Næsheims make the _best_ eggs.” He winks at Isak then—or, well, at least he _tries_ to, but really, it ends up being more of a ‘seductive wink’ than anything else—and Isak can’t help but respond with a fond eyeroll at this boy’s incredible dorkiness.

And just when he thought Even couldn’t possibly be even _more_ of a dork, his playlist begins to play that _oh, for fuck’s sake_ , is very familiar to Isak because of his little sister’s fucking _huge_ obsession with Gabrielle (ugh) and Even gasps, suddenly excited. “Oh my God I love this song.”

Isak’s eyes widen incredulously as Even rushes over to the speakers and proceeds to crank up the volume. “Are you fucking _kidding me_?”

Even pauses in the middle of his head bopping to look at Isak quizzically, his brows furrowing. “Er, no?”

“Jesus _Christ_ , this is like a goddamn hashtag,” Isak groans, burying his face in his hands. “What the fuck?”

Now Even’s definitely confused. “What?!”

“You _know_ ,” Isak complains, lifting his head up again. “When you’ve found the man of your dreams and it turns out he likes _Gabrielle_.”

Even’s lips curve upward into a sly grin. “The man of your dreams, huh?” He casts a glance over his shoulder to see if maybe there’s someone else behind him that Isak’s addressing—of course, there _isn’t_ —and so he turns back to Isak with a gasp, pointing at himself. “Oh my God, is it _me_ you're talking about?” When Isak does nothing but shake his head and roll his eyes up at the ceiling, Even questions again, a little more insistently, “Am I the man of your dreams?”

“ _No_!” Isak protests loudly. “That’s the way the hashtag goes, you _doof_ , you know that!”

“Nuh-uh!” Even chides playfully with a waggle of his index finger. “Now that you’ve said it, you can’t take it back. _You_ said _I’m_ the man of your dreams. Ha!”

He sounds so stupidly happy and it’s so ridiculously endearing to Isak that he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, yet another blush beginning to blossom on his cheeks which only intensifies as Even dances over into his personal space and places his hands on the counter by either side of Isak’s waist, leaning in until their noses are brushing.

“Say it again,” Even breathes and he’s so close that his lips are very nearly brushing against Isak’s as he speaks.

Isak’s eyes stray briefly to Even’s lips before he catches himself and manages to force his eyes back up to Even’s and he clears his throat before speaking. “Huh? I don’t remember what I said.” He taps his chin contemplatively.

“Come on!” Even whines, nudging Isak’s nose with his own. “Say it!”

“Oh, you mean the part about how this song fucking _sucks_?” Isak says with a shit-eating grin, batting his eyelashes innocently.

“No! The other part. The part about me being the man of your dreams!”

“Okay, fine! I said _you’re the man of my dreams_. Feel better?” Isak grumbles, trying his absolute best to fight back a smile but he finds it impossible.

“Oh, _so_ much better,” Even teases, again nuzzling Isak’s nose, prompting the other boy to roll his eyes and lean back a bit on the cabinets above the counter.

“The more _important_ topic, however, is just how much this song fucking sucks, and you should probably change it,” Isak says, and Even scoffs, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the pan of eggs.

“That’s _nonsense_ , Valtersen. That’s just your uncultured basketball brain of yours talking,” he retorts and Isak’s mouth falls agape, pretending to be offended.

“Huh?!”

“Listen, you’re cute and all, but your taste in music seems like it’s pretty shit,” Even continues. “First you don’t know who _Nas_ is, and now you’re hating on the queen of pop.” He shakes his head in false disappointment, but Isak’s already forgotten all about the whole shitty song debacle because _Even thinks he’s cute? What the fuck?_

“Huh?” Isak says again, a bit dumbfounded, and Even turns to him, raising a sly eyebrow at him.

“You heard me,” he replies, once again blinking at him, and Isak’s stomach churns at the tone in his voice.

“You’re a lying sack of shit, you know that, right?” Isak tells him, and Even gasps.

“You think the man of your _dreams_ is a sack of _shit_? That’s not very nice.” Even pokes at him and Isak stutters a bit.

“What! No—I—fuck. I just don’t think I’m _cute_ , okay?” Isak admits and Even pouts.

“But you _are_ cute?”

Isak’s cheeks are a dark crimson red as he averts his gaze down to the kitchen floor. “No.”

There’s a pause, then, the only noise in the kitchen being that goddamn Gabrielle song that’s _still_ fucking playing in the background while Isak feels Even’s gaze boring into him and it makes him squirm in his place on the counter.

Then he can hear Even huff and suddenly the music is at an almost deafening volume, but what makes Isak raise his head isn’t the fact Gabrielle is going to make him lose his hearing but, rather, he can fucking hear Even belting the lyrics over the speakers.

_You make me fired up_

_There’s nothing that can cool me down_

And _Christ_ , Isak is on the verge of facepalming when he looks up just in time to see Even miming fanning himself down as he starts dancing toward Isak, limbs flying in every which direction, and Isak is, just…so fucking bewildered. If he thought that Even was a dork earlier because of his seductive blinky winks, that’s nothing compared to how he feels about…well, whatever the heck this is.

_You make everything go up in smoke_

Then Isak _is_ facepalming, hiding his face away from this cheesy serenade-type thing Even’s doing, but his annoyance is betrayed by the tiny little smile he can feel tugging at his lips, and then Even’s warm hands are wrapping around his wrists, pulling Isak’s hands away from his face, and then he’s leaning in to nuzzle Isak’s nose. (Isak’s beginning to suspect he’s got a bit of a thing for his nose.)

_There’s no one else I’d rather do this with_

And there’s no one else Isak would rather have serenade him Gabrielle, too. 

***

It’s much, much later in the day—after Isak and Even made their way to school on the tram, after they’d walked into Eskild’s homeroom together, and after they went their separate ways to their different classes with a promise to meet with Vilde for rehearsal—that finds Isak dominating the gym floor during practise with the Narwhals, for the first time in the last week being truly focused.

He's taken possession of the ball now, and his teammates rush to the other side of the court while Isak dribbles the ball, heading for the basket. Mahdi attempts to intercept him, but Isak quickly spins around so that his back is to Mahdi, blocking him, and passes the ball to Magnus, who’s on his team for the exercise and had popped up beside Isak.

When Isak turns to face Mahdi, there’s a moment in which they mirror each other’s movements as Mahdi attempts to anticipate Isak’s next move—and then there’s a moment when Isak feints right that enables him to escape Mahdi and thus making himself clear for Magnus to pass the ball back.

Isak doesn’t hold onto the ball for long; instead throwing it overhead to Jonas, who’s on the further side of the court. He manages to bypass Mahdi once more and Jonas throws the ball when Isak is close to the basket. Isak catches it on the full and is quick to throw it at the basket; while Mahdi does his best to block his shot, he’s unsuccessful, the ball flying just out of his reach and sailing clean through the hoop.

 

“Whoo!” Terje hollers from the sidelines from where he’s observing his team play, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

Isak fist pumps the air, hyped up on adrenaline, a pleased grin on his lips as Jonas and Magnus both thump his back in celebration.

Over in the science classrooms, Even’s taken charge of the scholastic meeting, writing up on the whiteboard a complex chemical equation that he is currently walking his fellow teammates through the process of solving, and they hurry to scribble this information down as he explains it.

“…Zn4, and by doing that—” Even adds a _+4_ on the whiteboard in the space between Zn and the next element. “—you end up with two…and two.” He turns to face his peers, putting the lid back on the marker. “Got it?”

He’s met with enthusiastic nods and Eva high-fives Sana, letting out a whoop, because Even is by far the best addition to their team, and judging by the proud smirk on Sana’s face, Eva’s willing to bet she thinks so, too.

Basketball practise concludes _very_ close to the time Isak is supposed to be meeting up with Even, and so he changes out of his uniform in record time, ruffling his wet curls with a towel in an attempt to dry it quickly before tossing the towel in the hamper. He starts to run for the exit, but skids to a stop, and backtracks to the mirror he just passed and wrinkles his nose at the state of his hair. Isak runs his fingers through his hair, trying to sort it out, huffs in annoyance when his hair doesn’t co-operate as planned, gives his reflection the finger guns before racing out of the locker room.

And in the meantime, Even and his teammates, all wearing safety goggles and aprons for protection, are gathered around a lab table that has a beaker filled with a clear liquid situated in the middle.

“Okay, go ahead and put five grams of this in,” Even is instructing, reading aloud from his notes. He points to a substance on the table next to the beaker, which Mikael does, adding said substance to the liquid. “And that causes it to change from an acidic state, causing the colour to change from pink to blue. Just like those pH test strips.” It’s then that he chances a look at the clock to see that he’s five minutes late to meet Isak already. “Oh, fucking shit, I gotta go. See you guys later!”

Even is ripping the goggles off his face and yanking the apron over his head, only just remembering to neatly return them to their rightful spots on their shelf and hook respectively, as he sprints out the door just as Isak comes down a hallway, coming to a stop in front of some lockers. He checks an invisible watch on his wrist and barely has time to panic about Even not _being there_ before said boy is zooming by.

“Whoa!” Isak exclaims as Even snags his wrist and pulls him along in the direction that Isak had come from. “You’re late!”

Even gives a breathless scoff. “ _Barely_.”

***

They’re in the music room now, with Vilde seated in front of her piano, fingers moving gracefully across the keys, and Isak and Even sit to her side, on their own stool, sharing a copy of sheet music between them. Much like their first duet (well, the first duet since school started), it’s filled with small touches as their shoulders brush and shy glances when their eyes meet and soft smiles as they hold each other’s gazes. At some point, Isak uses his fist as a microphone that has Even struggling to keep a straight face.

Outside in the hallway, Emma and Chris are strutting by the music room, both humming along to a jaunty tune when suddenly Emma gets an earful of Isak and Even singing. She comes skidding to a halt with a gasp, arm flying out to get him to stop in his tracks too. In sync, brother and sister lean closer to the music room door to get a better listen and Emma gives another outraged gasp.

_This cannot be happening_.

“Wow.” Chris lets out a low whistle. “They sound… _really good_.”

Emma simply squawks in his face in response, roughly elbowing him aside so that she can march right up to the door. There’s a little window that allows one to look into the room and she rather unattractively smooshes her face up against the glass to get a better look at Isak and Even rehearsing and the sight just makes her blood boil. She lets out another screech—like hell she’s going to get _them_ steal her thunder—and pulls her face away from the door, turning around to face her brother, a stricken look on her face.

“Christoffer!” she hisses. “We have to do something.” She pushes herself away from the door and falls into step with Chris as they resume walking down the corridor. “Okay, our callback’s on Thursday and the basketball game _and_ the scholastic decathlon are on Friday…” Her voice trails off, a wicked smirk gracing her lips as she stumbles across an idea. “Too bad all these events aren’t happening on the same day…at the _same time_.”

Chris furrows his brows, not quite following Emma’s train of thought. “Well, that wouldn’t work out because then Isak and Even wouldn’t be able to make the…” Emma shoots him a _keep going_ kind of look and that’s when it sinks in. “ _Ohhh._ ” He smiles. “I’m proud to call you my sister.”

Emma smiles sweetly back at him, batting her eyelashes. “I know.”

And then she’s off, on a mission to Eskild’s office and inform him of her _fantastic_ new idea at once.

***

In the end, Emma and Chris don’t get the opportunity to speak with Eskild immediately, much to Emma’s dismay, but they do manage to ambush him after school on his way into the auditorium, which cheers Emma up considerably. When the trio enter the auditorium, Vilde is working on her music at the piano but when she sees the three of them, she lets out a quiet squeak and hides herself by ducking her head behind the piano.

“…I don’t want to hear about _Isak Valtersen_ and that _Bech Næsheim_ boy,” Eskild is saying as he walks across the stage. “So, if you’re telling me that as co-presidents of the drama club that changing the callbacks would be what’s best for our delightful theatre program…” He comes to a sudden pause at centre stage and whirls around with a dramatic flap of his shawl to face the two students. “…then I might actually agree with you.”

Eskild takes a moment to scan his immediate surroundings to ensure that there is no one else lurking in the auditorium; satisfied that there are none, he nods at Emma and Chris, then takes his leave.

“So-o-o,” Chris drawls to a smug-looking Emma, “is that a yes?”

Emma simply winks at him, pleased that Eskild was in agreement with her, and then she too leaves with a skip in her step, shortly followed by Chris.

Once they’re out of sight, Vilde straightens herself up, lifting her head up from behind the piano, and she can’t hold back her defeated sigh, upset by what she’s overheard as she stares at her music sheets.

***

The following day, the announcement is made by a yellow slip of paper stapled over the callback sheet on the noticeboard that Vilde is staring miserably at when Isak walks into the building, closely followed by Even and their respective teammates. He gives Vilde a grin as he walks down the hallway toward her, but when her expression remains unchanged, Isak takes a look at the noticeboard for himself, and what he sees wipes that grin right off his face.

The yellow paper reads:

CALLBACK AUDITIONS RESCHEDULED TO FRIDAY BEGINNING AT 15:30

“Callbacks at the same time as the game?” Isak demands incredulously.

“And the scholastic decathlon,” Even says in disbelief.

“Why would they do that?” Sana demands. “That’s just…the _stupidest_ idea.”

“I smell a rat named Eskild,” Jonas grits out.

“I actually think it’s two rats, neither of them named Eskild,” Vilde helpfully contributes to the conversation, causing Jonas’s attention to shift to her and he raises one of his big, bushy eyebrows.

“Do you know something about this, small person?”

Vilde moves to stand in front of Isak. “Eskild might think that he’s protecting the show, but Emma and Chris are pretty much only concerned with protecting themselves.”

“Do you know what I’m gonna do to those two over-moosed show dogs?” Jonas exclaims heatedly, slamming his precious basketball into Magnus’s chest, and the boy lets out an _oof_ , arms reaching out to hold onto the ball.

“Nothing,” Isak speaks up. “We’re not gonna do anything to them. Except to sing, maybe.” He turns to face his and Even’s teammates, their friends. “All right, now this is only gonna happen if we all work together. Now who’s in?”

He holds out his hand and Even’s quick to put his hand on top, followed by Vilde. Then Jonas. Then Sana. Eva. Magnus. Mahdi. Mikael.

Emma and Chris won’t know what hit them.


	10. Ready Set Go, On With the Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI BABES!   
> Uh, wasn't really expecting to update so soon?? I was thinking it was going to take a lot longer because this chapter has a song??  
> But apparently not lol--I've been working on it all day, and I'm uploading this before I go to bed sdkfjksdf.  
> This chapter is pretty damn wild, there's a lotta shit going on from basketball championships to the decathlon and the auditions and sdkjfpusdfjk it was actually kind of fun to write, for once.   
> Not too sure about how I feel with "Bop to the Top" but I hope you all think it's not too bad.  
> Chapter title comes from "Freakshow" by Reece Mastin.  
> ENJOY xx

In the days leading up to Friday, time is lost to both Isak and Even as they busy themselves with their respective team meetings, rehearsals with Vilde, and, of course, figuring out just how, exactly, they expect to make it to their callback.

So, it’s no surprise that when Friday finally does come around, the boys are riddled with nerves while the rest of the Hartvig Nissen student body is buzzing with excitement for what the afternoon is to bring, from both the basketball championships and scholastic decathlon against the Elvebakken Knights to the musical callbacks, which haven’t been a thing in, like, _ever_.

In the morning, Isak, Jonas, Magnus and Mahdi all trail into homeroom, one after the other, with Isak and Jonas being all sneaky as they run around behind Even and Sana, who are talking in hushed voices at Sana’s desk, and cover their eyes, cutting off the conversation. Magnus helps Mahdi carry over a pie that Mahdi has made in the shape of a pi, which they carefully deposit on Sana’s desk.

“It’s a pi pie!” Mahdi announces proudly when Isak and Jonas take their hands off Even and Sana’s eyes to reveal the masterpiece before them.

Once they see the pie, Even gives an incredulous laugh, clearly the more enthused of the two, while Sana just stares down at the pie in disbelief. “Holy shit, this is _incredible_! Thank you,” Even says, clapping Mahdi on the back, and he can’t help but preen at the praise.

Sana stands abruptly from her desk then, her face stoically composed, as usual. “We have something for you boys, too.” She walks off in the direction of a whiteboard that’s set up off to the side of the classroom.

“Oh, yeah! Come on, you’re going to _love_ this!” Even grabs Isak’s hand and tugs him along as he hurries after Sana, only letting go of Isak to gesticulate the board with flourish. “Ta-da!”

The board is filled with what appears to be a large equation and a little diagram of a basketball player about to shoot the ball. Isak stares at it, perplexed; Jonas straight up looks disgusted; Magnus’s face is scrunched up in confusion, math never having been his strong point; and Mahdi is just…offended. The three boys turn their gaze to Isak, expectantly, as if he might know why they’ve been gifted an equation.

“Oh, uh,” Isak says, trying to sound appraising, “that—that’s a nice equation.”

Then Even’s giggling and—most incredible of all—Sana _smiles_ , with dimples and everything, and then they’re turning the board over to reveal a poster that takes up the entirety of the other side of the board. On that poster is a large image of what looks to be a cartoonish Narwhal making a basket by flipping the ball overhead with its tail and the words “GO! NARWHAL HOOPSTERS” next to it.

Each of the boys let out exclamations of “ _Oh_!” except Magnus—he just lets out a squeal and starts to jump up and down where he stands. While they’re busy appraising the poster, Even and Sana pull out from behind them several plush basketballs and launch them at the distracted boys.

Magnus is the first to get hit in the face and he lets out a squawk before bringing his arms up to cover his face; Mahdi simply bats them away when they get too close to him; Jonas catches them and throws them right back; and Isak simply ducks and runs toward the door to get out of range.

Magnus and Mahdi follow Isak out the door while Jonas is bringing Chris and Emma over just as Eskild is walking down the hallway, stopping in the doorway between Emma and Chris.

“Stay right there,” Jonas says before breaking away and joining the entire Narwhal team that has formed in the hallway in a two-five-five formation.

“From our team to yours!” Isak declares from his place in the front row.

And then one by one, each team member rip open their windbreakers to reveal that they each have a letter printed on their shirt. “G–O–D–R–A–M–A–C–L–U– B” with Isak finishing the display with his shirt simply having an “Exclamation point!” printed on it.

Emma absolutely _adores_ the performance, her hands clutched over her heart and a big dreamy smile on her face; Chris looks on, brows furrowed in confusion; and Eskild, well, he’s mildly impressed that a team of basketball boys managed to pull this off. Behind the trio, some other students—including Even and Sana—have gathered to watch the Narwhals’ little presentation as well.

“ _Well_ ,” Eskild announces with a waggle of his eyebrows “it seems that we Narwhals are in for an interesting afternoon.” When he turns around and walks into the classroom, the other students quickly disband and return to their seats.

In the meantime, Chris tries to spell out what the heck the boys’ shirts are saying. “G–O–D…dra…”   It’s a struggle, apparently, and slowly Emma’s smile fades into a grimace as she turns her head to fix a disbelieving stare on her brother. _Is he fucking serious_? “Go dra…Go dray…”

“ _Ugh_!” Emma screeches and turns on her heels, marching back to her seat.

But Chris doesn’t care about that; he cares about trying to spell. “Drame?”

(It’s not until much later that he realises with an _ohhhh_ that it spelled “Go Drama Club!”)

***

The school bell rings, bringing an end to yet another day, and students begin to stream out of every classroom along the hallway, filling the previously empty corridor, all heading to the Narwhals game. It takes no time at all for the gym to be filled to the brim with spectators as cheerleaders from both schools do a routine. In not too long, the game is about to commence.

In the locker room, Terje is fiddling with his tie as he leaves his office, and stops in his tracks upon noticing Isak sitting on the bench doing up his shoe laces. Instead of  moving down the hallway toward the gym, Terje leans in the doorway of the locker room, still fiddling with his tie. “Uh, how you feeling?”

Isak looks up from his shoes and gives a small smile, shrugging. “Nervous.”

Terje returns the smile. “Yeah, me too. Wish I could suit up and play alongside you.”

“Hey,” Isak grumbles as he hunches over to resume tying his shoelaces, “you _had_ your turn.”

Terje bursts into a fit of booming laughter. When he’s calmed down and recollected himself, Terje clears his throat. “You know what I want from you today?”

“The championship,” Isak answers, finally done with tying one shoe up and starting on the other.

“Well, that’ll come or it won’t. What I want is for you to have fun.” Isak looks up, surprised, and watches as his father steps into the locker room to seat himself on the bench opposite him. Isak sets his feet down on the ground so that they’re facing each other. “I know all about the pressure. And probably too much of it has come from me.” Isak nods wordlessly; that’s an understatement, and he’s bewildered that Terje is even admitting this. “What I really want is to see my son having the time of his life playing the game we both love. You give me that, Isak, and I will sleep with a smile on my face no matter how the score comes out.”

There’s a beat where Isak simply stares at his father in complete shock, and then he’s launching himself across the locker room to hug Terje, and he hugs Isak back just as tight. “Thanks, Coach—uh, Dad.” Isak pulls away from the embrace and gives his father a sheepish grin.

Terje gives him a grin in return and ruffles his hair before he leaves the locker room to allow Isak to finish suiting up for the game.

-

Over in the science building, the spectators for the scholastic decathlon are also taking their seats. At the front of the room are two whiteboards and two tables covered in beakers of different chemicals. In the middle, separating the two teams, is another table, where the time keeper for the decathlon is seated.

While people are taking their seats, the master of ceremonies is announcing, “Welcome to the tenth annual Scholastic Decathlon: the Hartvig Nissen Narwhals versus the Elvebakken Knights.”

The crowd bursts into polite applause as both teams shake hands while the MC takes his seat.

-

In the auditorium, Eskild is standing by his desk in the front row, ushering the few students that have arrived to watch the callbacks, pointing out where to sit to get the best view of the performances while at the same time, offstage, behind the curtains, Vilde opens the piano and practises her song, humming the words as she plays the keys.

In the meantime, Emma and Chris are in their dressing room doing their bizarre pre-show ritual to warm up for their performance, which includes: saying “Mah, mah, mah!” while pretend to claw at each other; then Emma takes to screeching “Eeh! Eeh!” while Chris is squealing “Ow! Ow!” and both are moving their hands up and down at their sides.

“Stop!” Emma barks and Chris dutifully complies. She turns so that her back is to him, holds her arms out and falls back into Chris’s waiting arms. Emma hauls herself up onto her feet and turns around, placing her hands on her brother’s shoulders. “I trust you.”

“Energy,” Chris replies, and then they both resume their vocal exercises while outside, Eskild checks his phone for the time, waiting for the clock to hit 15:30.

***

“Come on, let’s do it!” Isak yells, and then he is leading the rest of his teammates out of the locker room, who whoop and cheer and holler as they jog their way down the corridor and finally into the gym.

“And now introducing your Hartvig Nissen Narwhals!” the host announces over the speakers as the Narwhals make their entrance, running onto the court, prompting the crowd to go wild.

“Let’s go! Go!” Terje cheers from the sidelines as his boys run past him.

 “…for this championship game between Hartvig Nissen and Elvebakken!” the host roars, the first half of his speech lost in the screaming of the crowd as the Narwhals throw baskets in their pre-game warmup.

-

Meanwhile, in the science building, Even and his Elvebakken opponent are standing by their respective whiteboards, watching, anticipating, as the MC stands, his hand in the air, and after a few seconds brings his hand down in a slicing motion, and the decathlon begins as Even and the opponent start writing up an equation on their boards in a race to see who can finish first.

-

Back in the auditorium, Eskild is in the middle of one of his infamous speeches.

“Casting the leads of a show is both a challenge and a responsibility,” he’s saying, “a joy and a burden. I commend you and all other young artists to hold out—” He clasps his hands together in a gesture as if praying. “—for the moon, the sun, and the stars.” He finishes with his hands flinging up towards the ceiling.

Vilde and Eskild’s assistant burst into a round of applause, which brings great joy to Eskild, who beams brightly at the two as he bows with flourish.

“Shall we soar together?” he asks, holding out his hand to Vilde, who takes it as the assistant takes a picture of Eskild at his request.

“Emma and Chris!” Eskild announces with a wave of his hand as he takes his seat.

Suddenly, the speakers begin to blare jaunty, tango music and a spotlight shines on the left-hand side of the stage, and then Chris bursts out from behind the curtains, donned in a black suit with a sparkly blue shirt and a matching fedora.

_Mucho gusto_

He strikes a pose, and then his head snaps to the side as another light shines on the right-hand of the stage, where Emma bursts out from offstage, dressed in an obnoxiously sparkly blue dress with a ridiculously ruffled skirt and train.

_Aye que fabulosa_

She mimes fanning herself down as she wiggles her hips, then bunches her skirt in her hands and sways the fabric from side to side as she moves her hips.

_Rae aye aye aye_

Emma moves gracefully across the stage, continuing to shimmy her hips as she approaches Chris, who’s in the middle of taking off his jacket.

_Arriba!_

Chris sheds his jacket at last, chucking it without really caring where it lands, and then starts skipping over towards his sister.

_¿Quieres bailar?_

_Mirame_

Emma and Chris meet in the centre of the stage, with Emma sidling up beside him as Chris gives her a little shimmy.

_I believe in dreaming_

_And shooting for the stars_

Emma struts toward the front of the stage, leaving Chris several paces behind her to pelvic thrust the air, and Emma’s twirling her hands by her head, then mimes shooting a boy by extending one arm out in front and bringing the other across her chest, bent at the elbow, finishing off with another shimmy.

_Baby, to be number one_

_You got to raise the bar_

Chris is now wriggling his hips, moving his arm out in front of him with his index finger pointed upward, then shimmies, swiftly raises his arms up as his does so.

_Kicking and a scratching_

_Grinding out my best_

Emma kicks a heeled foot out at Chris, mimes scratching at him also, but Chris simply leans back, out of range, and then Emma’s grinding her hips with flourish,

_Anything it takes to climb_

_The ladder of success_

Chris is sashaying his hips, as is Emma, who swishes her skirt around, and then Chris is miming climbing up a ladder, both of them sidestepping until they’re suddenly side-by-side, and they share a smirk.

_Work our tails off everyday_

In sync, they step out with their left foot, hold up their right arm and cradle the elbow with their left hand, and repeat with the other sides, while Eskild, in the audience, mimics the action to the best of his ability while sitting down, mouthing the words and watching in adoration.

_Gotta bump the competition_

_Blow them all away_

Emma and Chris then purposefully hip-check each other, spin to face each other, point finger guns at each other, and then Emma mimes blowing Chris away, waggling her fingers in a gesture of farewell as he turns away and frolics across the stage.

_Caliente_

Upon reaching the other side of the stage, Chris does a twirl and then starts sidestepping back towards centre stage.

_Suave_

Back in centre stage, Emma gives a shimmy, dragging her hands down her body as she does so.

_Yeah, we’re gonna_

_Bop bop bop, bop to the top_

_Slip and slide and ride that rhythm_

Chris is at Emma’s side once more, and then they’re jumping to the right, shaking their hands about, stepping out onto their left foot and using it as leverage to spin around, moving two more paces to the right before sliding across the stage to their left.

_Jump and hop_

_Hop ’til we drop_

_And start again_

They spin in a one-eighty, kicking out their right leg, pop their hips, and then do another one-eighty so that they face the audience once more, and wave their hands.

_Zip zap zop, flop like a mop_

_Scoot around the corner_

_Move it to the groove_

_Until the music stops_

They snap their fingers in a Z formation, toss their head from side to side, and waggle their hips as they spin around again. Then Chris takes one of Emma’s hand, placing one on her hip while her other also holds onto his hip, and they start to tango, with Chris lifting Emma and spinning her around before depositing on her feet on the other side of him.

_Do the bop bop bop_

_To the top_

_Don’t ever stop_

_Bop to the top_

Still holding hands, Chris and Emma take a step backwards, turn to their sides and tango briefly again, and then they’re twirling in their spot, and grabbing hands, and Chris spins Emma under his arm.

_Gimme gimme_

_Shimmy shimmy_

Once more they’re facing each other, Chris’s hand on Emma’s hip and hers on his again as they tango one more time, and break away from each other to shimmy at the audience, spinning around as they do so.

***

Back in the gym, the Narwhals are huddled around on their side of the gym, crowded around Terje. All of them are holding their hands out in the centre of their circle before they’re throwing them up in the air with a simultaneous roar of “ _Narwhals_!”

As the team disperses, the host’s voice is announcing something about “…the coveted championship trophy!” that both teams are playing for. The Narwhals, led by Isak, make their way onto the court and shake hands with their opponents before settling into their positions with the referee standing in the centre, basketball in hand.

The referee blows his whistle and throws the ball overhead, and the two players in the middle jump for the ball. It’s a close call, but in the end, the Narwhal player manages to tap the ball, aiming it toward Isak, who catches it and immediately starts taking off for the hoop.

“Hartvig Nissen wins the opening tip,” the host narrates, “pushing the ball up the court…”

-

Meanwhile, in the decathlon, Even’s whiteboard is filled with the equation and he manages to finish first, rushing forward and slamming his hand down on his team’s timer, much to his opponent’s disappointment. The judge walks over to inspect Even’s work and, upon finding it satisfactory, gives the point to Even, prompting the Nissen crowd to go wild, including Elin, who jumps out of her seat for joy.

Sana embraces Even with a grin. “We did it!”

Even hugs her back and then he’s breaking free to go and shake hands with his opponent while Eva embraces Mikael and Sana as she jumps up and down gleefully.

***

_Shake some booty and turn around_

Onstage, Chris and Emma are once again swaying from side to side and spinning each other around. Vilde is sinking further into her seat as she watches, shaking her head and tightening her ponytail for something to do other than watching this mess.

_Flash a smile in their direction_

_Show some muscle_

_Do the hustle_

Hands on their hip that’s jutted out to the front, Emma and Chris give the audience _huge_ smiles before they flex and start spinning across the stage again.

***

At the decathlon, Sana and Even are both checking the clock before they’re lowering their gazes and their eyes meet. Sana smirks at him as she seats herself down in front of her laptop, Even sitting at her side not long after, and she opens up her laptop.

“All right, Narwhals,” Sana murmurs, “time for an orderly exit from the gym…”

She presses “SEND CODE” and soon enough, much to her and Even’s delight, the words “MESSAGE TRANSMITTED” are displayed on the screen and Sana slowly closes the laptop, grinning slyly at Even as she does so.

-

The transmission, it turns out, is sent to the router that controls the power in the gym and causes it to malfunction, thus knocking out the power in the gym.

At first, the electricity in the gym is fine as the host continues to narrate: “And Elvebakken pushes the ball around the perimeter on the offensive end.” The Bakka boy holding the boy passes it to a teammate, who manages to snag the ball before someone from the Narwhals does. “Nice ball movement by Elvebakken. Driving the lane…shot is up and…”

His voice trails off and the scoreboard, with the timer and scores, begins to short out, and the lights start to flicker between on and off. The game buzzer begins to sound, and Isak holds out his arms to signal everyone on the court to stop.

“We seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties, uh…” the host is saying as the referee is sharply blowing on his whistle to signal a time out. “We’ve got a timeout on the court here.”

As the referee rushes over to announce that “We have a problem. Stop the game. Stop the game,” Isak is looking up at the ceiling in wonder, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Sana came through. _What a fucking legend._

“Referee has signalled time out,” the host announces, and in the chaos that ensues, Jonas is running up to Isak and roughly pokes his shoulder. Isak shifts his gaze to him, rubbing at his shoulder and is about to say _what was that for_ when he catches the expectant look on Jonas’s face as he jerks his head toward the door.

Oh. _Right_. Auditions. Duh.

Isak claps Jonas on the back to say thanks and then he’s taking off toward the exit, not noticing that Terje has spotted his hurried departure as the crowd is told, “Everyone please remain calm…”

-

Sana has her laptop opened once again; while shorting the power in the gym was significantly easier, the diversion that she has in mind for the decathlon is…well, much more unpleasant. She sends another message, and nearby, a beaker is filled with a blue liquid that’s connected to a Bunsen burner begins to bubble as the Narwhals decathlon team looks on in anticipation.

Nothing could have prepared anyone in that room for the smell that was produced by the bubbling liquid, and it’s so disgustingly nauseating that Even urges the rest of his teammates to get up and “Go, go, go, go!” because he’s the closest to that smell and holy _shit_ does he want to get away from it.

The judge, who’s holding his hand over his nose and trying not to gag, is gesturing for the spectators—who are freaking out over the pungent odour that’s seemingly come from nowhere—to also start to vacate the area.

-

In the gym, Principal Skrulle is talking into a microphone to try and calm down the crowd. “We’ll get this figured out real soon,” she assures, with a flick of one pigtail, “but in the meantime, per safety regulations, we need to all make an orderly exit from the gym, please.”

The Narwhals all exchange gleeful glances and, as one group, start running for the door, on their way to the auditorium.

***

Over in the auditorium, Eskild is dancing his merry little heart out on his seat as the song continues.

_Yeah we’re gonna_

_Bop bop bop, bop to the top_

_Wipe away your inhibitions_

Emma and Chris shake their hands again, jumping to their left, wiping their foreheads and shimmying, dragging their hands down their bodies.

_Stump stump stump, do the rump_

_And strut your stuff_

They’re facing side-on now, throwing their hands up in the air, stomping their feet as they strut across the stage, Emma swishing her skirt.

_Bop bop bop, straight to the top_

_We’re going for the glory_

They spin around, Emma doing a three-sixty while Chris does a one-eighty so they are facing opposite directions and mirror each other’s actions before they clasp hands together and do yet another twirl, this time moving backwards. The lights begin to shine on the backdrop, revealing the ladder covered in gold tinsel that’s been carried on by stagehands and a discoball hanging by the rafters.

_We’ll keep stepping up and we just won’t stop_

Emma and Chris stand at different ends of the ladder; Emma starts to climb on her side, flashing a smile to the audience, while Chris simply stands with his foot on the bottom rung and flexes.

_Till we reach the top_

Noticing that his sister’s nearly at the top, Chris quickly climbs up another rung, and then another when he’s realises he’s not up _quite_ as high as her. When they’re at the same height, without breaking her note, Emma reaches over and swats Chris across the head, and he huffily steps down another rung.

_Bop to the top!_


	11. I Realised Ain't Gotta Hide this Heart of Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AGAIN BABES!  
> Can you believe it? I'm back with another update. I am on a ROLL!!  
> So, I'm very excited/nervous about this chapter because it's the Evak callback WOO and I'm not 100% I did it justice skdfjsdfj  
> (I think this is the shortest chapter, because this is basically just...Evak singing "Breaking Free" sdjfdshf)  
> Chapter title comes from "Kiss the Boy" by Keiynan Lonsdale :)))))  
> ENJOY xx

The song ends with Emma and Chris holding onto the ladder with one hand and the other flung up over their heads and the audience erupts into cheers and applause while the duo descend from the ladder and walk to the front of the stage to take a bow. Then Chris starts clapping loudly as he takes several steps back to praise his sister, who curtsies with a flourish.

Righting herself, Emma catches sight of Ingrid, someone who she hasn’t seen in _ages_ , sitting in the front row, and she calls out to her, “Oh, hi! Call me!” before she makes her way offstage as Chris takes off his fedora and throws it into the audience, and it lands in the back row, where a group of four—two boys and two girls—squabble over who gets the hat.

“Do you see why we love the theatre, people?” Eskild extends his arms gracefully as he walks up onto the stage flanked by Vilde while the stagehands remove the ladder from the stage. “Well _done_ ,” he appraises Emma and Chris, who are looking awfully smug about their performance, and then Eskild turns his attention to the clipboard he’s clutching. “Ah, Isak Valtersen and Even Bech Næsheim!”

Eskild scans the auditorium for the two boys when he’s met with only silence, and he waits several beats before calling out again. “Isak? Even?”

“They’ll be here,” Vilde frantically assures Eskild, but he waves her aside with a flick of his wrist.

“The theatre, as I have often pointed out, waits for no one. I’m sorry,” he says sternly, and he can’t help but feel a _little_ bit bad when Vilde’s face crumples and she scampers offstage while off to the side, Emma and Chris smirk as they watch her leave, very pleased with how the callback is going in their favour.

“Well, we are done here,” Eskild announces after another pause. “Congratulations to all. The cast list will be posted—”

“Wait!” someone hollers from the doorway, panting and out of breath from sprinting all the way across the school, and Eskild looks up from his clipboard with a mixture of surprise and exasperation when he sees Isak and Even sprinting down the aisle. “Eskild, wait! We’re ready, we can sing!”

“I called your names, _twice_ , young man.” Eskild waggles a finger at Isak as the boy races up the steps leading onto the stage and comes to a screeching halt in front of the older man.

“Eskild, please! _Please_!” Even is begging as he races up the steps on the other side of the stage, and Eskild simply flounders about, waving his arms as he tries to find the words to convey his annoyance.

“Rules are rules!” is what he eventually settles on in a tone that means _end of discussion_.

It’s as the small audience gets up to leave that the rest of Hartvig Nissen starts pouring into the auditorium; and it’s not just the Narwhals that have come to watch, but the Elvebakken Knights, too. While Eskild is bewildered at the sudden appearance of _so many students_ —a rarity in his chapel of the arts—Emma is _ecstatic_ and practically skips over to him, Chris close behind her.

“We’ll be happy to do it again for our fellow student, Eskild,” Emma says gleefully, giddy at the thought of performing in front of not one but _two schools_ —such an opportunity rarely comes up

“I—don’t know—what’s going on here,” Eskild says slowly, words stilted, as he watches the athletes taking their seats, almost the entire middle section of seats filling at a rapid pace, “but in any event it’s far too late—” He doesn’t quite know _why_ and he flounders again for an excuse before settling on, “—and we have not got a pianist!”

“Oh, well,” Chris interjects mockingly. “That’s show biz.”

“Then we’ll sing without a piano!” Isak bargains desperately and then there’s the steady clacking of heels as Vilde hurries out from behind the curtains and comes to a stop at Isak’s side, and she momentarily grabs his arm to keep herself from toppling over.

“Oh, no you won’t,” Vilde scolds him before turning to Eskild eagerly. “Pianist here, Eskild!”

Emma takes a step toward Vilde, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips as she growls out, “You _really_ don’t want to do that.”

Vilde takes a step toward Emma, getting right up in her face to fire back, “Oh, yes, I _really_ do.” Emma gives an outraged shriek and falls back into place beside her brother when Vilde abruptly spins on her heel and barks out, “Ready on stage!” to the stagehands.

Eskild whistles. “Now _that_ ,” he says, jabbing a finger in Vilde’s direction as he addresses Chris and Emma, mocking Chris’s earlier words, “is show biz.” He starts to vacate the stage while Emma stares in disbelief after Eskild for several seconds, unable to _believe_ that this is happening to her, and so she runs offstage, Chris following closely behind to console her.

And then it’s just Isak and Even onstage, and Isak hands a microphone over to Even, who takes it in a shaky hand and clutches it tightly to his chest as he turns to face the audience. Isak returns to the piano, leaning casually up against it as he nods at Vilde to start playing the piano, and Even is left in the centre of the stage feeling absolutely _terrified_ with the gaze of _so many people_ staring at _him_. Being at the centre of attention isn’t a pleasant experience for Even, especially not after the _last_ time he had so many people ogling him.

When Vilde plays his cue, Even tries to sing—he _tries_ —but no words are coming out. There’s an awful moment where she keeps playing and Even is frozen under the weight of too many eyes on him and he can _hear_ people whispering, especially one voice that declares loudly, “Does he have stage fright?”

_Yes. Yes, he does._

Isak looks down at Vilde, who meets his gaze and stops playing, bringing her hands to rest in her lap as Isak makes a move to comfort Even, who moves the microphone away from his lips.

“I can’t _do it_ , Isak,” Even whispers frantically, “not…not with all those people staring at me.”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Isak says softly as he reaches out to grab Even’s arm when the other boy attempts to walk offstage, “look at me, right at me.” It takes a couple of moments for Even to turn his head to face him, to meet his gaze again. “Right at me.” There’s so much fear in Even’s eyes and Isak very nearly reaches out to stroke his cheek, to comfort him. Instead, he settles for taking hold of Even’s hand. “It’ll be like the first time we sang together. Remember? Like kindergarten.”

Isak feels his heart soar when Even gives him a soft smile and a short, swift nod. He tightens his grip on Even’s hand, squeezing it to assure him everything’s okay before he’s letting go to motion for Vilde to start playing the piano again. This time as Vilde plays, the backdrop of a starry night comes down behind the boys while Isak and Even hold each other’s gaze and let the rest of the world fade away.

Rather than Even starting the song as planned, Isak takes over for him, having been through enough rehearsals for him to know his parts, too, and as he sings, he keeps his gaze on Even, never breaking their eye contact. There’s a moment where Isak holds his arm up over his head, reaching for the stars that are painted onto the backdrop, before bringing his arm back down to hold out his hand for Even to take.

_We’re soaring, flying_

_There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach_

Even’s palm brushes against Isak’s and a shiver goes down Isak’s spine, warmth spreading from his hand where their palms met in the briefest of touches. He switches the hand that’s holding the microphone, and Even does as well so that they are free to hold hands.

_If we’re trying_

_So, we’re breaking fre_

With their hands interlocked, Isak starts to walk toward the front of the stage, now staring out at the audience, while Even, who’s moving alongside him, simply stares down at him in wonder. Here, now, in front of the entire student body, with Isak in his Narwhal uniform and Even in his lab coat, the sentiment has never rung more truthful. When Even finds himself unconsciously moving away from Isak, their fingers slowly separating, it’s a harsh reminder that not too long ago there _had_ been a divide between them, a rift purposely created by their friends, and then he’s bringing the hand that had been holding Isak’s up to his chest and holding it over his heart to remind himself that’s not the case anymore.

_You know the world can see us_

_In a way that’s different than who we are_

_Creating space between us_

_Till we’re separate hearts_

Isak turns to refocus on Even now, with a grin on his face that’s widening with every word he sings, and such a sight is doing funny things to Even’s stomach, making it feel all fluttery, as he finds himself smiling back just as brightly.

_But your faith, it gives me strength_

_Strength to believe_

_We’re breaking free_

With Isak at his side, Even slowly begins to build up his confidence, reminiscent of that fateful night at the ski lodge, getting used to the presence of the larger audience as their peers clap to the rhythm of the song. From where he sits in the middle section, Jonas is clapping the loudest, and in the seat behind him, Mahdi is leaning forward and clapping Jonas on the back, whispering “ _holy shit_ ”, and Magnus is uncontrollably bouncing up and down, enjoying the performance immensely.

_We’re soaring, flying_

_There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach_

_If we’re trying, yeah, we’re breaking free_

_Oh, we’re breaking free_

Isak sashays across the stage, raising his free arm up overhead again as he moves to stand by the piano once more; there, he moves his hand in a wave-like motion as he shuffles in a circle and points at Even who, on the other side of the stage, is in the middle of taking off his lab coat and chucks it offstage, much like the first time they sang together, striking a pose with his hand over his heart as he does so.

_Can you feel it building?_

_Like a wave the ocean just can’t control_

_Connected by a feeling, ooh, in our very soul_

And then they’re gravitating toward each other, covering the distance that separates them in several long strides, mirroring each other’s actions with Isak raising his right arm as Even raises his left; when they meet each other at centre stage, they bring their hands down together, palms brushing and fingers entwining.

_Rising till it lifts us up_

_So everyone can see_

_We’re breaking free_

Isak is circling around Even with one arm extended out to the side while Even spins around where he stands several times over without a fucking care in the world. In this moment, they feel invincible—here, now, together onstage, they can be who they really are with each other.

_We’re soaring, flying_

_There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach_

_If we’re trying_

_Yeah, we’re breaking free_

_Oh, we’re breaking free_

Up here, on this stage, they are free from the status quo. They are not Isak Valtersen, the Basketball Guy, and Even Bech Næsheim, the Freaky Math Guy, two boys that belong to vastly different cliques that it’s taboo for them to be in each other’s presence. Here, they are, in the simplest terms, just…Isak and Even, two boys with the power and the freedom to be together, regardless of what others might think.

_Running, climbing_

_To get to the place to be all that we can be_

The audience erupts in another round of cheers, and somewhere in the crowd, Eva is smiling so wide that her cheeks are starting to hurt. Her hand reaches out for Sana’s, whose arm is lying on the armrest between them, and Eva clasps their fingers together. Feeling Eva’s hand against hers, Sana looks across at her girlfriend, who’s looking at her so lovingly it brings a small, shy smile to Sana’s lips, showing off her dimples, causing Eva’s heart to flutter. She moves as close to Sana as she’s able to with the armrest between them and leans in to rest her head on Sana’s shoulder, and Sana then rests her head on Eva’s.

A few rows down, Jonas is grinning proudly up at his best friend, and behind him, a grin of a similar variety is on Mahdi’s face as he leans forward in his seat, resting his arms on the back of Jonas and Magnus’s seats. And as for Magnus…well, Magnus has his clasped hands over his heart as he stares adoringly at the performance onstage.

_Now’s the time_

_So we’re breaking free_

_We’re breaking free_

Now Isak and Even have made their way over to the piano, where Vilde abruptly stands up from her stool and shoves it out of her way with one swift kick, opting now to stay on her feet, her hair coming loose from its meticulous ponytail as she head-bangs to the rhythm as her fingers dance across the piano keys. Out in the audience, Jonas now jumps up from his seat, hollering and clapping his hands overhead.

_More than hope, more than faith_

_This is truth, this is fate_

Terje wanders up to the doorway of the auditorium, having learned that this is where his team has disappeared off to, and he comes to a halt, shocked, when he sees that _his son_ is up on stage. The only time he’s ever heard Isak singing is when he’s in the shower—which he and Lea give him a lot of shit for—but to see him actually up on stage isn’t something he thought he’d ever see. Terje guesses, for once, Tryggvason _wasn’t_ wrong about Isak singing. He finds himself leaning against the doorway, hands clapping to the beat to mimic that of the audience.

And just a few metres away, Elin comes up to the second doorway, watching her son in awe, her breath catching in her throat. It’s been a long while—several months—since she’s seen Even look so happy, so _comfortable_ being himself, and she can’t help the feeling of her heart bursting with pride, a huge grin tugging at her lips.

_And together we see it coming_

_More than you, more than me_

Several other audience members are now following Jonas’s lead, jumping up onto their feet, and it’s so incredibly overwhelming for Isak, more so than Even, to have the support of so many of his peers that have adhered to the hierarchy for so long.

When Isak had met Even at the ski club that night, this…sure wasn’t where he saw his life heading. Never, ever in his wildest dreams did Isak ever think that he—a guy that everyone has taken for the typical basketball guy, son of the coach and whose primary concern was simply the game, a stereotype that Isak has never really thought to debunk—would be standing here, up on stage, singing with a boy.

And as for Even—in this moment he’s soaring above his status as the resident Freaky Math Guy, a label that has followed him from his old school in Bergen all the way to Nissen. Up here, on this stage, with a beautiful boy by his side, he’s starting to feel more like himself than he’s been in a good long while.

_Not a want, but a need_

_Both of us breaking free_

As Even leads Isak away from the piano, the set piece of a moon that Even had been responsible for painting during detention is lowered onto the stage behind them by stagehands that are hiding in the wings. Even uses Isak’s hand as leverage to spin himself across the stage in a move that makes the crowd go wild, with screaming and cheering, and Isak is quick to follow, sliding across the surface of the stage after Even.

_Soaring, flying_

_There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach_

_If we’re trying_

_Yeah, we’re breaking free_

They turn on their heels and dance their way around the moon set piece that’s far enough away from the backdrop to allow them to do so, spinning around each other when they meet in the middle behind the moon, and finish up standing on the opposite side of the moon to when they started.

Hidden behind the curtains, lurking offstage, Emma and Chris are watching the performance. Emma has her arms crossed, and she’s glowering at the two boys prancing about like idiots on _her_ stage, while Chris, who really could not give less of a fuck, watches in appraisal, his chin propped up in his hand. Of course, he does make sure to frown whenever Emma turns to him to make sure that he’s just as outraged as she is at this…this _bullshit_.

_We’re running, climbing_

_To get to that place to be all that we can be_

By now, every student in the audience is on their feet, clapping and dancing. Even Eskild is on his feet, having been so taken by the performance that he’d carelessly flung his clipboard away so that he can break out some of his best dance moves in the middle of the aisle.

_Now’s the time_

_So we’re breaking free_

_Oh, we’re breaking free_

Their voices grow softer now, more breathless, and sure enough, the world fades away as Isak and Even lock gazes once more. They’re walking around in each other in circles, unconsciously leaning in close enough that their foreheads are touching, palms reaching up to touch, and this time when they hold hands, they don’t let go of each other.

_You know the world can see us_

_In a way that’s different than who we are_

The song draws to its inevitable conclusion, with Vilde playing the outro, and the auditorium erupting into thunderous applause is not enough to tear Isak and Even’s eyes away from each other. Breathing heavily, chests heaving, they allow the cheers to wash over them.

Isak gives Even a soft smile, and unlike the first time they sang together, Isak isn’t feeling shy or panicked or nervous under the weight of Even’s gaze, but his insides are _definitely_ fluttering with something else, and it’s when Even in turn gives him a grin so wide that his eyes are crinkling in that utterly endearing way that only intensifies that feeling and Isak is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him.

And so, he does exactly that—the microphone tumbles out of Isak’s grip as he brings his hands up to cup Even’s face, bringing him impossibly closer so that their noses are nuzzling, and then he’s crushes their lips together for the world to see.


End file.
